Profile Me, Doc
by The Petulant Prodigy
Summary: Hotch and the team are called in for an extremely unique case in New York City. The Crowned Clown Prince of Crime always loved a challenge, and Reid has never liked to lose, and the Joker learns that even he can't break the laws of attraction...J/R slash.
1. Part 1

**I have an unhealthy obsession with Criminal Minds (Dr. Spencer Reid) and the Joker. What better than to bring the two worlds together? Especially at Halloween time, my favorite time of the year? And yes, in case you were wondering, I will be the Dark Knight's Joker this year. **

**WARNING: SLASH, LANGUAGE, AND SLIGHT PLAGIARISM (Using a few lines from the Dark Knight movie.) I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS/SETTINGS. THIS IS STRICTLY FOR FUN AND NO PROFIT WAS MADE. **

**-Profile Me, Doc**-

Part 1.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit of Quantico Virginia had seen their fair share of psychopaths, rapists, sociopaths, cannibals, and terrorists. They had seen decapitated bodies, burned down buildings, and eviscerated corpses. They had been trained to handle these things, process what was seen and heard in a way that would keep them from losing their minds to the madness that was the human condition. Their job, in a sense, was to understand (and ultimately think) like the evil they came across.

So the team was having a rough time pigeon-holing their newest case file that J.J. had thrown on the round table of their private meeting room. Hotch, the fearless leader, had called the team in from the bullpen area and was his usual no-nonsense self. Rossi sat composed in his usual suit and tie while Derek Morgan stifled a yawn. Penelope Garcia, the self-appointed goddess of the internet databases, twirled a pink glittery pen between her hands and Prentiss hustled in, arms folded across her chest the moment she took her usual seat. Reid was the final to settle into his seat, thin fingers running through his chin-length hair to get it out of his eyes.

"Glad you could join us, Pretty Boy," Morgan chuckled.

"I'm on time," Reid said, narrowing his eyes at his older brother figure and holding himself back from launching into an encyclopedic rant about clocks and his own personal silver wristwatch which had been carefully tuned to the literal second of the proper time.

"Let's get started," Hotch announced, cutting the boys off and holding up the folders J.J. had presented them with, "I think it's safe to say that we've never had a case so…unique."

"Oh good, I was beginning to get bored with the normal murdering variety," Rossi said, making Prentiss and Morgan chuckle.

"Let's take this seriously," Hotch said, although he was fighting a smile, something that was rare for the non-blinking team leader, "I don't know what to call this young man yet, considering he's not only an anarchist, an arsonist, and a notorious bank robber, but also a murderer with an obsession for the dramatic."

Several members of the team lifted their eyebrows before opening their case files, the first page a glossy 8 x 12 photo.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Morgan said, throwing his case file back down on the table and leaning back in his swivel chair, "Seriously, Hotch? The psychos wear war paint now?"

"Actually it looks to be like grease paint," Reid corrected, his eyes absorbing the picture to add to his eidetic memory collection, "and a psychopath with heavy delusions, considering he portrays himself as a clown."

"The media is dubbing him 'The Crowned Clown Prince of Crime'," J.J. said, her arms folded in front of her as she stood near Hotch's chair, "So far NYPD has been chasing him for petty theft and bank robbery, but this man's taken it to the next level by blowing up a hospital."

"Talk about theatrics," Rossi murmured, turning a page over in the file, "but I'm not getting anything out of this case file except for miles of offenses."

"That's why they're calling us in," Hotch said, nodding towards Rossi, "it's gone too far. The man has been taunting not only the police department but the media directly. He's made threats against the mayor's life and has managed to steal over forty million dollars of mob money without disrupting the marked bills. They're running out of options and we need to bring this man down before he kills again."

"How many victims thus far?" Rossi asked.

"They managed to evacuate the hospital in time," Hotch said, looking at one of the file papers, "the only reason, of course, was because he warned the media an hour in advance, on live television."

"Why would he do that?" Morgan said, his brows pulled together as he stared down at the UnSub's photo.

"He's delusional," Rossi emphasized, rocking in his chair, "he's on center stage, the main attraction. He wants to invoke fear and panic; that's got to be his sexual release in the whole mess. He's not after individuals, he gets off on the chaos that he creates."

"Citizens are afraid to walk the streets after dark," J.J. elaborated, "and many have been evacuating for weeks now, too afraid to even stay in the city. This UnSub has an entire city in the palm of his hands."

"And we cannot underestimate him," Hotch said coolly, "the body count may have stayed down due to the evacuation, but there are twenty seven cops in a morgue because of this man, not to mention over fifty pedestrians. Most of the killings were done via grenade after the bank robberies were deemed successful."

"He BLEW UP bank hostages?" Penelope looked absolutely appalled.

"Not only hostages, but accomplices," Reid said, done memorizing the scanty file, "far more accomplices than actual pedestrians. Classic sociopathic behavior, a manipulator: uses them for what he needs accomplished for certain stages of the heist and then eliminates them, or manipulates them into killing each other for a split of the profit that they will never live to see."

Garcia gaped at Reid like a fish while Rossi chuckled and Morgan shook his head. Leave it to Reid to have half of the profile already prepared. Although the case file offered literally nothing on the man himself, it was possible to profile his behavior through his crimes to a certain extent.

"People are terrified, even the police force," Hotch met everybody's eyes around the table. Everybody looked back at him, waiting for the four words that meant they were completely committed.

"Wheels up in thirty."

**XXX**

Garcia would stay behind to man the 'Information Superhighway' that was the FBI's most sophisticated software and computer technology along with J.J. who had too much paperwork and media to deal with to accompany them. Everyone had come with their 'go bags' and looked a bit frustrated and tired. The case had come unexpectedly, much like the delinquent clown simply known as 'The Joker'. Rossi had commented that it would only give the UnSub a better sense of power and control by having a name in the media, but it was unstoppable now.

Hotch read over the file again while Morgan nodded off to his headphones and Prentiss re-read one of Rossi's latest profiling novels. Rossi and Reid had begun another game of chess, a game in which Rossi had yet to beat the young genius.

"Is there anyone that can beat you at this game?" Rossi sighed, falling back in the plush jet chair as Reid kinged himself for the umpteenth time.

Reid cleared his throat, his eyes shifting away from Rossi, "Gideon. I could never beat Gideon."

Rossi nodded, offering Reid his classic toothless smile, both of them lapsing into silence for the remainder of the flight. Reid stared at the checkered board, the different pieces and pawns. Now was no time to reminisce on his retired father figure: it was time to focus on finding an UnSub that would force the team to think three steps ahead, much like the game Rossi no longer wanted to play.

**XXX**

"Boss," a gruff voice said through a colorful clown mask, turning up the volume on the old school TV, "You're on again."

The Joker lifted his head, his legs splayed out in front of him as he sat on a giant pile of cash. He hadn't burned it yet, not yet. He wasn't sure if he'd need it for a bit longer before disposing of such trivial trash. After all, its presence kept the mindless cronies filing in to be obliterated at his convenience. It was all…so…LAUGHABLE.

His deep brown eyes focused on the TV screen, his lips drawing into a pout, "They never get, uh, my GOOD side."

Currently the news was playing footage of the latest bank heist, his back turned to the screen as he jumped into the back of a yellow school bus. He'd removed his mask before, when the bank president had been rambling about 'honorable thieves' and other trivial things he couldn't be bothered with. Joker always left behind the surveillance and security feeds for the media's convenience. What was the point in covering his tracks? He didn't need to. Hell, he WANTED them to find him. He had nothing to hide. Nothing, nothing at all. It was all…PART OF THE GAME.

"What we gonna do, boss?" the nameless cronie barked, reading the words trailing along the bottom of the screen, "Says the FBI is gettin' involved. A b…a b-behavioral…analll…"

"A behavioral analysis unit," Joker said, staring at his useless cronie with contempt before smiling his scarred smile, "Ah hah, so the pigs got, uh, DESPERATE."

"They're famous, Joker," he continued, the images changing from Joker to the front of a police station where a press conference was being held by a Mr. Aaron Hotchner.

"Turn it up," Joker commanded, waving a blade in one hand towards the masked clown, "I wanna HEAR what he, uh, has to SAY about ME."

The volume increased, Hotchner announcing that they had just arrived in the city to investigate the UnSub known as The Joker and for anyone with any information to call the police department immediately or forward information to their bureau in Quantico, Virginia.

"Ha ha," Joker said, licking his favorite blade from hilt to tip, "Get the boys together. Tonight's gonna be, huh, ENTERTAINING."

**XXX**

The BAU team had been holed up in the police department's spare conference room for hours, nursing their sleeplessness and jetlag with crappy coffee and stale donuts. Photos, crime logs, and a geographical chart had been looked at, but no leeway had been made.

"He's all over the papers, the television," Rossi said, frustrated, "We need fresh information. Check with Garcia again."

"She's got nothing," Morgan said, running a hand over his shaved head, "His alias is not in the database. We can't access records that we don't have a real name to, Ross."

"A young male, late twenties, early thirties tops," Rossi said, staring at another close-up photo of the clown in his mysterious face paint, "We need to start at the beginning, but we don't even know if this psycho's local or not. We need to catch him, interrogate him. I don't think there's any other way of dealing with him."

"We know he's unpredictable," Reid said, holding his mug of coffee with both hands, "The only link between the robberies is the intense security that the banks boasted; he leaves behind bodies and surveillance tapes. He has no remorse for his victims and has proven himself to be a master manipulator as his own accomplices are seen disposing of each other; this lightens the Joker's workload and suggests a sense of organization. His victims seem random and inconsequential. Even the acts themselves…I'm not entirely convinced that he was even after the money."

"So he hits the big banks; wants attention," Morgan elaborated, his arms folded over his broad chest, "it's about taunting. Mob money…so we know he's got connections with crime rings. We need to get the other big boys of the city to start talking."

"Nobody's going to say anything," Prentiss said from her seat, tapping a pen, "look at this guy: this isn't somebody to be hired or even understood. He's a psychopathic vigilante."

"Narcissistic," Hotchner threw in, tacking more close-up photos of the criminal clown up on the board, "he wants his image everywhere, especially his smile."

"The scars…" Reid ventured, his brows pulled together as he thought, "Self-inflicted?"

"Could have been the trigger," Hotch said picking up a red Expo marker and writing down what the team had been saying for the past few minutes, creating a small web pool, "Perhaps they weren't self-inflicted. Maybe the trauma caused his psychological unraveling. Several of his victims, known gang associates, had their mouths cut in a similar manner before death."

"His own nightmare inflicted on others," Rossi murmured, stroking his short clipped beard, "but this just isn't enough. We can speculate and run ourselves in circles all night, but this man will not be understood until he is handcuffed and sitting in an interrogation room."

"And there's no way to find him," Morgan said, holding up a small plastic bag which held a charred Joker playing card, "he finds you."

"There hasn't been a bank robbery in over two weeks," Reid said, setting his coffee mug down, "So far the UnSub hasn't shown a cooling off period; the attacks before this period were frequent, along with petty theft and arson."

"So it's only a matter of time before he strikes again," Hotch finished, looking at the member's of his team with a critical eye, "And this time, we have to be ready."

**XXX**

Joker giggled to himself as his two favorite cronies of the week got out of the semi, allowing Joker to take the wheel. He was so excited. He had only driven a semi once before, and it had been such delicious fun.

"Did'ja get my fire truck?" Joker asked Chuckles, a short, stocky masked clown with no sense of humor.

"Yah boss," he replied, looking both ways across the empty street. It was almost midnight, Joker's self-appointed deadline. He usually didn't make himself deadlines. He liked to think of himself as a free spirit, but he also loved to fuck with people's minds, and he just knew that the behavioral analysis unit would be thoroughly skull-fucked over what he was about to do.

"GOOD-DUH," he said, licking the corners of his mouth, "You, ah, take care of THAT for me, and I'll, hah, get this baby where it needs to be."

"You sure about this, boss?" Chuckles said, sounding a bit worried, "This is pretty ballsy, even for you."

"Just do what I told you," Joker said evenly, slamming the semi's door closed and cutting off communication. He shifted the gears of the behemoth machine, charging forward, laughing to himself.

He licked his scars again, smacking his lips as he drove furiously through the night.

**XXX**

Spencer Reid had just collapsed into his hotel bed after a long hot shower and was nearly asleep when he was assaulted by intense banging on his door. He groggily got up, running a hand over his face as he opened the door to see a fully dressed Derek Morgan.

"Sorry, kid. No beauty rest tonight," he said, eyes filled with flames, "The UnSub's made a move, and you're not gonna believe it until you see it."

**XXX**

Twenty minutes later, Reid and the rest of the team were getting out of unmarked black SUVs in front of the main corporate police station, their eyes unbelieving. Of course Hotchner had briefed them in the car on the way over, but none of them had seen the physical evidence.

But here it was. A semi driven right up to the front of the police station and slammed through the side wall, right where the bull pen area had been. Only two casualties thankfully, as the others had run out of the way in time of the massive truck. Police and crime scene units were swarming over it now, prodding at its contents while a mean-looking detective was trying to calm the flashing press down.

Reid stepped forward, picking up a piece of evidence that was in the semi to over-filling.

"Flowers?" Rossi said, looking at the thorned Rose held carefully in Spencer's pale hand, "The psycho sent us flowers?"

"How romantic," Prentiss huffed, feeling vengeful for having been woken up at three o'clock in the morning for something so bogus.

"He's in custody now," Hotchner said, getting off of his phone for the dozenth time in the past half hour, "they moved him to another bureau due to the damage. They've already set up an area for us there. They'll move him to interrogation when we're ready."

"Let's do this," Morgan said, looking menacing, "Let's put this son-of-a-bitch away for good."

**XXX**

Joker sat idly on the bench in the small rectangular cell, his fingers steepled in front of him, wiggling every so often. He had never been a person to sit still: he was never one to sit still, even when he was a kid. Life would just…pass you by if you didn't chase after it, beat it, and laugh. Joker remembered reading something somewhere about how laughter actually increased your lifespan by several years; that laughing was healthy.

He hadn't said a word since being taken in. He didn't think he had to. He didn't want to talk to these people, these PEOPLE with their little SCHEMES and their obsession with CONTROL and ORDER. He didn't need that. Not. One. Bit.

He licked his scars again, surprised that the police hadn't made him wash off his colorful grease paint. He was a little agitated that they had taken his favorite purple suit jacket, but he was still clothed in his pinstriped purple pants and his blue-purple starched collared shirt covered in an interesting pattern. He'd sewed the green vest himself, the gold buttons taken from some broad's overcoat he'd taken a liking to.

Not the broad. He'd killed her after he'd taken her jacket. He didn't have time for hanky-panky in his line of work now, did he?

Ah, and his colorful little patterned tie. It made him feel more complete. Although the menacing look was kind of lost without the 'purple pimp jacket' as a certain Mr. Gamble had called it. Too bad it hadn't been a funny joke, then Joker might have let the mafia kingpin live.

At least Gamble had gotten to hear a fascinating personal story before being gutted and left for his pooches.

Joker snorted, earning himself some attention from two officers who were talking quietly about him. He didn't mind. He didn't very much care what people said about him. They could talk all they wanted, but they wouldn't gain anything from what they had found in his pockets. They wouldn't find out anything about him unless they asked all the right questions, and Joker doubted that these people would ask the right questions.

It was all about…SENDING A MESSAGE.

"They're here," an officer announced upon entering the room and sending a glare Joker's way, "Get this piece of trash to interrogation room C."

Joker couldn't help himself. He licked his lips, "What's the C stand for?"

The two officers who had been guarding him unlocked the makeshift jail cell and lifted him forcefully off of the bench, "Crazy, motherfucker. How about that?"

**XXX**

Hotchner and Rossi stared through the one-way glass of the interrogation room, arms folded over their chests as they contemplated their means of attack against the psychopath.

"You have the most experience, Dave," Hotch said, not taking his eyes off of the unsettling man inside the interrogation room, "I'd feel more comfortable with you taking the first punch."

"Gladly," Rossi mumbled, still agitated that he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, "Let's get this kid talking, and do it fast."

The door to the private room opened and Reid stepped in, holding a file, "Morgan and Prentiss are still talking to witnesses; said I'd be more useful here."

"For now you can watch," Hotch said, nodding towards Rossi, "He's taking first bait."

Reid nodded, watching Rossi leave the room while another investigator began running the audio and visual for record. Reid stared through the glass, a slight chill running up his spine upon seeing the UnSub in the flesh. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes that made Reid think of a feral animal. Wild, maybe crazy, but there was a calculating intelligence that was unnerving.

Reid found himself wondering if he was handsome underneath the face paint. His dirty blonde hair was streaked with green, hanging limply to his shoulders and pushed back out of his eyes, revealing a garish painted face that was beginning to streak from sweat and wear. His clothes looked mismatched and for once, Reid felt almost like a kindred spirit. At that moment Reid happened to be wearing his classic ensemble of a starched shirt, sweater vest and tie with some comfortable slacks. He remembered somebody calling him a teaching assistant until they had seen the side arm strapped to his belt and the badge Reid had shoved in the man's face, along with the title of doctor.

Reid wasn't a prideful person, but with four PhDs under your belt by the age of twenty-four, you would feel a little righteous indignation at somebody looking at you like you were a helpless child.

Reid was a lot of things, but he wasn't helpless.

"Well helloooo there," the UnSub said, licking at his scars as Rossi took a seat across from him, "I'd say it's, uhh, nice to meet you but, uh…well, the thing is…I'm not too interested in the infamous David Rossi, you see? But I kind of wish I'd robbed a bookstore on the way over. If I had, would you have signed my, uh, COPY?"

Rossi tilted his head, putting his hands on the metal table in front of him, "We're not here to talk about me. Let's talk about you."

"Me?" Joker said, pointing at himself, his handcuffs rattling, "No, no. This isn't about me. This is about…sending a message."

"A message? What kind of message?"

"An…important one," Joker said, licking at the left corner of his mouth before tilting his head, his deep brown eyes on Rossi, "Very…important."

"Mind sharing?"

"Not with you," Joker said, shaking his head a few times, "No, no. You're one of THEM, one of those….PLOTTERS. You know what, Dave? You kind of remind me of my father."

"Oh really? I find it hard to believe a monster like you would even have one."

Joker laughed, a laugh that made even the seasoned profiler's skin crawl.

"Ah hah, ha ha hoo hee ha HA," he finished, his eyes as hard as diamonds, "Very funny, DAVID. Tell me, have ya learned anything YET? Besides the fact that I'm a psychopath, I mean."

Reid felt the corner of his mouth lift up in the tiniest smile, but he quickly smothered it. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated on what Rossi was saying in the room.

"I'm not PERFECT," Joker said, rattling his cuffs as he shifted again, "but, uh, I'd like to BELIEVE I have some control left over my, uh, UNIQUE way of thinking."

"You call murdering innocent people control?"

"The exact opposite," Joker said, leaning forward slightly, "You see, Dave, guys like me…"

"Freaks," Rossi corrected.

Joker licked his scars again, "No, I'm not. I'm NOT. I'm…not a FREAK. The real freaks, David, are the people going about their daily lives, pretending they have control over their little worlds. The businessmen in their monkey suits and the minions under them who dance like, uh, PUPPETS. I'm not one of those guys, Dave, I've…no patience for THAT, you see? I'm…a little more…EVOLVED. I'm NOT a monster, I'm…just…trying to make the world laugh a little more."

"At what? Dead bodies?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Joker said, shaking his head in dismay like he was talking to a small child, "That's why I'm not here to talk to you. No, no a guy like you doesn't want to LISTEN. You're too busy being...you're just a profiler. You're a dime a dozen. Sure, you wrote books and caught the bad guys, but you don't think OUTSIDE THE BOX. You're not even that smart, hm? Am, am I right?"

"So you want to play games?"

"You're NOT. LISTENING," the Joker barked, rattling the table, his dark voice making Reid jump slightly and Hotch frown, "And here I went out of my way to bring your team the best flowers in New York. Did Emily PRENTISS like them? How about Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner? They're the alpha males of your little posse, right? How about that techy braud, Garcia? She ain't here, is she? If she is, I wanna tell her I dig her SENSE OF STYLE. But you know what? That Jennifer of yours, J.J…she sure is BEAU-TI-FUL."

"So you know the members of my team," Rossi said, trying to sound unimpressed, "You'll have to do better than that."

"And the infamous Doctor Spencer REID," Joker continued, as if Rossi had never interrupted him, "His little articles sure are something. I'd like to meet him. How about it, Dave?"

"No, you're with me right now."

"You're no fun," Joker pouted, "Then how about a trade?"

"I don't make deals with psychopaths."

"You MIGHT want to make an exception," Joker said, clicking his tongue and shifting in his chair again, "See, if you DON'T give me what I want, I MIGHT, uh, accidentally blow up a hotel."

Hotchner looked at Reid and the other detective, all of them focusing back in on the Joker and a composed Rossi.

"You let yourself be caught, and now you're making threats?"

Joker sighed, "Dave, you're pretty slow on the upTAKE. I didn't let myself get caught for NOTHING, you know? I'm a…busy man, see? I got people to kill and…and buildings to blow up. I don't have TIME to sit here with YOU, unless you bring in some tea or something. I like tea."

"What hotel?"

"Not that simple," Joker smirked, "but, uh, nothing ever IS, is it? Things are never what they SEEM, hm? Complicated, intricate, but all I want is for people to realize how SIMPLE life really is. You have a problem with that: I see it. You try to make SENSE of things too much. Takes a lot out of you, hm? Makes your shoulders slump at the end of the day, even after a few drinks."

"Are you profiling me now?" Rossi said, sounding beyond agitated. Hotchner and Reid knew he couldn't take much more of this.

"Give me the boy," Joker said, his eyes steady, "And I'll give you the hotel. See? SIMPLE. I'm NOT a complicated guy. I'm, uh…MAN OF MY WORD."

Joker started laughing, an eerie laugh that sounded even more deranged on the taping devices.

"Let me go in there," Reid said, addressing Hotchner.

"Absolutely not. We can't allow him to think he has any leeway in our investigation."

"There's no other choice!" Reid replied.

"We can evacuate…"

"Do you have ANY idea how many hotels are in New York City?" Reid said, his mind going full throttle from all the guidebooks and brochures he had read the last time they had been on a case in New York, "Just let me talk to him a few minutes. Maybe he'll drop his guard with me."

"Why?"

"He's a sociopath, and the knife wounds he inflicts on his victims suggest he's a sadist: it's probably why he's picking on the weakest-looking member of the team," Reid said quietly, staring through the glass at the lunatic, "A couple of minutes isn't going to hurt, Hotch."

Hotch sighed, looking at Rossi who was getting up from his chair and crossing to the door to leave, his face drenched in agitation like he wanted nothing more than to punch the clown in the face.

"It's SIMPLE," Joker called after him, "One boy for one hotel. And, oh, if I, uh, DON'T get to talk to him by, uh, 4:00 a.m, there's gonna be, uh, LOTS of fireworks and your, ha, TEAM can PROFILE to their heart's content."

Rossi slammed the door, making the Joker cackle with new laughter.

**Hooray! :D**

**This will probably be a three-part, because I'm lazy. Also, sorry about all the CAPITALS and whatnot, but the document manager was being a b with an itch so I gave up. *Shrugs* I'm lazy. Please let me know if you'd like to see more :3**


	2. Part 2

Have fun! -TPP

**-Profile Me, Doc-**

Part 2.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Rossi asked quietly, staring at the slender genius standing next to him as Reid's eyes burned through the one-way glass, "I was with him five minutes and he nearly cracked me. Sure you can take the heat?"

"I really wish everyone would stop underestimating me," Reid said evenly, hands in his pockets as he continued to stare through the glass at the psychotic clown.

"Dave isn't undermining your abilities," Hotch said, arms crossed, "He's concerned, you know that, Reid. We've never interrogated someone so…interesting."

Reid's eyes flickered over to Hotchner, the look almost menacing. Hotchner was taken aback; it was very rare for Reid to exude hostility, "How many times have you beaten me at poker, Hotch?"

"Never," Hotch replied, his brow furrowing. What was Reid getting at?

"And Rossi's never beaten me at chess," Reid said matter-of-factly, arms crossed over his chest now, "This UnSub is a mastermind in strategy, even if he claims ignorance. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's thinking three steps ahead. And if he's a sadist as we have profiled him to be, he's expecting a weak and meek little me. Right now, we have the upper hand, and I'm going to keep it that way."

With no further ado, Reid left the small room and admitted himself into the interrogation room, Hotch and Rossi watching through the glass with worried eyes.

**XXX**

Joker's head lifted when he heard the door to the interrogation room open once more, revealing a very tall and slender young man with intelligent brown eyes.

Joker whistled, "Well Hellooooo beautiful."

Joker laughed internally as the young doctor took the vacant seat across from him, his poker face on.

Oho, this was going to be soooo much fun.

"You're really rude," Joker said, shaking his head slightly, "Can't even say HI."

"You obviously already know who I am, as you asked for me specifically," Reid said using his no-nonsense tone, "I'm here. Give us the name of the hotel right now."

Joker's grin unsettled Reid, but he tried to keep his body language cool and composed. It wasn't very often that he played himself off as an alpha personality, but he would have to show Joker that he wasn't a sniveling little nerd for him to toy with.

"SURE," Joker said, putting his handcuffed hands out in front of him on the table and leaning in slightly, his tongue flicking out quickly to lick the grease paint from his bottom lip, "The Straus Grand. Corner of 22nd and Cisarro."

Joker knew that the other government big wigs were probably dialing out at that very second behind the glass, but it didn't matter. Joker giggled, "Make sure they, uh, check ALL the ventilation shafts. Rigged that puppy about a month ago, so my memory's a little FUZZY. Forty stories is going to, hah, TAKE a while."

"You orchestrated the bombing of a hotel that could potentially kill over 10,000 people a MONTH ago?" Reid furrowed his brow, hoping his voice sounded cynical and not awestruck.

"What can I say? I'm a BUSINESSMAN," Joker said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he looked at Reid through his streaked face paint, "Even psychopaths need INSURANCE, Doc."

Reid's eyes darted across the Joker's face, "Exactly. You're a psychopath and a textbook sociopath with paranoid delusions of grandeur. My inferences would suggest that you are incapable of a high order of intelligence due to your instability in…"

"Your voice is very nice," Joker cut in, nodding his head several times, his green-streaked hair bobbing on his shoulders, "I'm gonna be honest with you, all that technical psycho-mumbo-jumbo spilling out of that delicious mouth of yers is, uh, kinda turning me on."

Reid stiffened, his fingers clenching on top of his legs, "W-what?"

"Haha," Joker said, smiling wide as he wiggled in his seat before sitting back in it, cocking his head to the side, "I'm glad I, uh, asked for you. You're absolutely adorable. So much more DELICIOUS in person."

**XXX**

"He's losing it in there," Rossi mumbled, his eyes still trained ahead of him as he listened to the audio feed coming into the room.

"He'll get back," Hotch said confidently, "He'll figure it out. The Joker just caught him off guard. He's playing games now."

"Now?" Rossi scoffed, "He's been playing them all along."

**XXX**

"U-um, that was, um, a very strange deflection," Reid murmured, looking down at his hands before looking back at the Joker. What was he kidding? The UnSub had just managed to destroy his alpha-like confidence in less time than it took Reid to win his chess matches.

"Ahhh," Joker said, leaning forward in his seat again, "THERE you are, Spencer. Wondering when you were going to SHOW UP."

"What are you talking about? I don't understand."

"That macho crap that, uh, they teach interrogators these days…" Joker wiggled his nose, his brows drawn together like he was looking at something rather disgusting, "Doesn't suit you, Doc. At, at your, uh, CORE, you're a LOVER not, uh, FIGHTER, am I right?"

"I am an agent of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI…"

"Sure, sure," Joker said, licking his scars again, "But uh, you're also a, uh, young GENIUS with the, uh, social skills of a slug. You're not, you're not like them. You're not. You're special, UNIQUE, hm? You, you're the smartest kid in the room, all the time, and they, they look at you, like…like you're a FREAK."

Spencer cast his eyes down again, wishing his growing wavy hair would cover his face so he could hide. This UnSub sure knew how to draw on his insecurities.

Reid knew that. He'd done most of the profiling for this UnSub, and yet he was still letting him toy with him. No, he would NOT let that happen.

Reid lifted his head, his gaze smoldering, "I'm NOT a freak."

Joker's lips turned up in a smile and Reid couldn't help but think how attractive it was even with the garish paint, "I didn't SAY you were, did I? But I know what it feels like, for everybody to look at you like you're one. People are always afraid of anything that's different."

"So is that why you do it? Kill innocent people?"

Joker looked at Reid with a serious face, his eyes so brown they were practically black, "Nobody's innocent."

"What about children? Aren't they innocent?"

Joker slammed his hands down on the table, making Reid jump, "CHILDREN are even more EVIL and CRUEL than adults. I know so. That's in your psychology textbooks too, isn't it? That CHILDREN carry sociopathic tendencies, therefore they cannot be properly diagnosed until the tender age of eighteen. CHILDREN have to learn MORALITY and ETHICS that haven't been ingrained fully yet, hm? That's the PARENT'S job, isn't it, Doc? To make sure their kids grow up with ETHICS and MORALS? But they don't learn soon enough, do they? They hit and slap and call each other names before they're old enough to be on a playground. CHILDREN, my good doctor, is where it all begins."

"It's true that mental illness can manifest itself at an extremely early age, but…"

Joker shook his head, looking Spencer right in the eyes, scaring him, "THEN EVERYONE IS MENTAL. If you ask me, school is a form of corporal punishment. If they really want to keep killers and thieves off the streets, send them back to school instead of jail. They'll kill themselves instead of wasting your VALUABLE tax-paying DOLLARS."

Reid wasn't sure what angle to use with this UnSub anymore. Reid couldn't help but secretly agree with everything the Joker was saying. He himself had been a victim of vicious Vegas school systems. It hadn't been easy being a twelve-year-old prodigy in high school. He of all people knew how damaging social circles with children could be, "I'm assuming you had a hard time growing up. Was school a challenge for you?"

Joker tilted his head again, "I, uh, never finished school, UNFORTUNATELY."

"Why not?"

Joker ran a hand through his green and dirty blonde locks, "I, uh, I had a hard time, um, FOCUSING. I couldn't…I couldn't sit STILL. My teachers were pretty much INSANE by the time I was EIGHT. I failed at everything because, because I couldn't FOCUS, but I got better when Tommy Stevens called me a dunce. I hated that little bastard. He was, he was always taking my crayons."

Joker ran his hands together, like he was warming his hands over a fire, "I got on some medications and it got easier. I showed him, I showed TOMMY just how STUPID I really was. I was doing trigonometry and that little shit still didn't know his multiplication tables."

"Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder," Reid said, his brow furrowing as he scribbled notes down on the paper he had brought in with him in the file, "You were brilliant but people failed to acknowledge it due to your learning disability. Y-you were a genius."

"I had testing done when I turned thirteen," Joker continued, looking at Reid while licking his scars, "they moved me into more advanced programs, but I didn't like it. It was too BORING. The older kids, they were no fun at all. They looked at me like you look at me. A FREAK."

"Your testing, I'm assuming an Intelligence Quotient test?" Reid said, his mind scrambling to regain control of the interrogation. The more Joker talked, the more they'd have to solidify a profile that could lead to his true identity. They already had one name to run through Garcia's databases, maybe he'd give up another, or even better, the elementary school, middle school, and high school he attended, "What was your score?"

Joker huffed, looking bored, "That's not important."

"Yes it is," Reid said, feeling giddy at the thought of finally learning this man's true identity, "What about the schools you attended? What programs did they put you in?"

"I told you they were boring," Joker said, shrugging, "I don't like to, uh, think about boring things. I wanna think about...INTERESTING things."

"Okay, what do you find interesting?" Reid said, setting his pen down and giving the Joker his full attention. Maybe if he let his guard down a little bit and acted friendly, the Joker would open up more and accidentally slip more useful information.

The Joker licked his scars again, wiggling on his chair, "Let's see: gunpowder, nitroglycerin, matches, knives…and, uh, YOU."

"Me?"

Joker nodded, "It's not every day I'm left alone in a room with an attractive guy like you in handcuffs. Now that's what I call, hah, INTERESTING."

Reid felt a blush creeping up his neck and face as the Joker studied him, a grin widening on his face as he watched that said-blush.

"You're fucking adorable," Joker sighed, leaning in, his dark eyes shiny with interest and what Reid read as lust, "I just wanna LICK that blush right off of you, DOC."

Reid was horrified to feel himself growing aroused. He unconsciously touched his tie as if to loosen it, shaking his head, "You're being inappropriate. This is an interrogation."

"It's an interrogation for THEM," Joker said, nodding towards the one-way glass, "But not for us. I know this is, uh, a shitty first date, but uh, I'd like to make it up to you with a second one."

Reid knew that the man sitting in front of him was a lunatic with an IQ that probably mirrored his own, but he couldn't help but feel flattered at the man's words. Disturbing sexual images suddenly lit up behind his eyes and his heartbeat quickened, "Joker, take this seriously."

"I AM," he said, his grin lecherous, "So serious, in fact, I'm willing to kill for it."

Reid's eyes widened, "What?"

"I want you to remove my handcuffs and walk out of the bureau with me," Joker said, looking at Spencer with excited eyes, "I'm gonna take you out on a REAL date, show you the REAL New York City, MY City. And we're gonna eat, most DEFINITELY. Ya like Italian? This guy I used to know, Sironi, he told me about this little place…"

"I'm tired of your games!" Reid said, standing up suddenly from his chair and slamming his hands down on the table in front of him, "You're not walking out of here, Joker, at least not unbound. You're going to stand trial and then you're going to be locked away in a high security mental institution for the rest of your life!"

"Maybe we can share a cell," Joker said, grinning madly at Spencer as he fumed, "Us FREAKS need to stick together, after all. Schizophrenia's a terrible debilitating mental disease, don't you think, Doc?"

Spencer was furious. As far as he knew, there had only been one article leaked in the papers about his mother's mental history, and that had happened over a year ago. Reid had always been super careful about her safety and it didn't help that Reid had always been concerned with the idea that schizophrenia was passed genetically, "You're mad."

"Madder then a Hatter," Joker agreed, sitting up straight in his chair and leaning slightly towards Reid, "And you're my little Alice. Just accept the fact that you tumbled down the rabbit hole, sweet pea. You're in MY Wonderland now, and what I say goes."

"This conversation is over," Reid husked, picking up the file and ready to make his exit, "Let me know when you're ready to take things seriously."

The Joker moved fast as lightning, jumping from his chair, his arms slipping over and around Reid's neck easily, the chains tugging against his throat as Reid stepped back into the Joker's torso. Joker held him tight, cutting off his air supply as Reid's delicate fingers clawed and scratched at Joker's arms.

Joker giggled, "Then let's take this SERIOUSLY, shall we?"

The interrogation room door had been opened by a frantic Hotchner, but Joker pivoted towards the corner, Reid's body covering his completely. Hotchner had drawn his weapon, but it was useless: he'd have to shoot Reid to get to Joker.

"I told you we were going to walk out of here," Joker husked into Spencer's ear, making him shiver.

"This won't work," Reid gasped out, knowing there would be welts on his neck if he survived this encounter.

"Oh it will," Joker giggled, licking the shell of his ear, "Remember my, uh, insurance policy?"

**XXX**

Hotchner and Rossi both had their weapons drawn, mortified at the scene before them. It made sense now: of course Joker had wanted the weakest member of the team for this little stunt. It was ballsy, Rossi would give him that, but he wasn't going to let the maniac get very far.

Reid's safety was the top priority at this moment.

"Joker, think this through," Rossi began, his issued side arm drawn and ready, "You won't make it four blocks. Let go of the kid and we'll talk."

"Hehe," Joker giggled into Reid's ear, "They called you a kid when you are, uh, most DEFINITELY not. I'd say, what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five tops?"

Reid didn't really have air to argue. He was concentrating on keeping himself calm and in as much control of himself as he could, but it certainly didn't help matters that he could feel Joker's incessant erection bumping against his ass.

And it certainly didn't help that his body was reacting from the treatment.

Maybe Spencer really was beginning to lose his mind.

"You're deflecting again," Hotch said, his eyes hard, "Let go of Reid and we'll work something out."

"You see, THAT'S your problem. You have NOTHING I want," Joker said dryly, the chain rattling as he tightened it more on Reid, barely allowing him any air now, "I got what I wanted. I ALWAYS get what I want, and what I want is right here. Now, if you two gentlemen would be so kind as to move aside, I'd like to peacefully make my exit."

"What makes you think you even have a chance of getting out of here alive?" Rossi said testily.

Joker licked at his scars before sighing, "Ya know, for, uh, world-famous profilers, you two sure are DENSE. I thought you guys specialized in BEHAVIOR and whatnot, but APPARENTLY you haven't been paying ATTENTION. Everything…everything happens for a reason."

"I'm not going to ask again," Rossi said, "Let go of the kid."

"If I do that…" Joker began, settling his chin comfortably on one of Reid's shoulders, "A lotta people are gonna die."

Reid tensed as Hotch and Rossi looked at the man in horror.

"You're bluffing," Rossi finally challenged, "We took care of the bombing situation at Strauss Grand. You've got nothing."

"Oh REALLY? Because last time I checked, uh, I had a thousand oil barrels rigged and ready to explode. You know how many city BLOCKS that can destroy, DAVE? I don't know the answer either, but uh, if you DON'T give me one of those nifty black SUVs and allow Spencer and I to go on our date, we're all gonna find out."

"You're insane," Rossi spat as Hotchner slowly lowered his gun.

Joker shrugged, "I get that a lot."

**XXX**

"We don't even have proof that he's telling the truth!" Rossi fumed as he watched the Joker close the driver's door on the government-issued SUV, Reid already in the passenger seat.

All the bureau's cops stood on the steps, staring at the horror they were allowing to unfold in front of them. They really didn't have a choice: thousands of people were going to die if they hadn't let Joker go. Joker had seemed pretty indifferent over the entire thing, as if remaining at the bureau wouldn't have been that big of a deal.

Lives meant nothing to him. Innocent lives meant even less.

The only thing that hurt more was knowing that Reid had been sucked into the mess, and he didn't know if Reid would be walking away from it alive.

Rossi and Hotchner had alerted the other cops to lower their weapons when they had emerged into the main bullpen area, some of them even lashing out and cursing as they watched the Joker drag a suffocating Reid out the front door with promises to give them the location of the barrels as soon as he had been driving for ten minutes and was positive that no one had followed.

"Follow me and I blow them all," Joker had warned, "and if I'm feeling especially, uh, irritated, I'll kill even more tomorrow."

The only good thing was that Hotch had heard Joker promise Spencer that he wouldn't kill anyone over the course of the next twenty-four hours and he had sworn that no harm would come to the young doctor.

"Psychopaths are incapable of true feelings, you know that," Rossi barked the second the SUV pulled away from the curb and began driving way past the legal limit, "Reid's not safe, not even for a moment with someone as unstable as the Joker."

Hotchner sighed heavily, feeling like a thousand pound weight had just been settled on his shoulders, "Hopefully Reid figures out a way to keep those affections."

In the next second Hotchner was on his cell phone, "Garcia, I need you to run a tracker and triangulate a position on this license plate…"

**Smut coming next chapter. Be warned! If you're not into slash, stop reading!**


	3. Part 3

_Sorry about taking forever to update. School and life got in the way, along with work. Apologies. I'm sure many of you won't agree with how I've twisted Reid in this chapter, but knowing how insecure and unstable Reid has shown himself to be in the series at times, I thought I could get away with it because, honestly, the greatest manipulator in the world has got to be the Joker. And lets not forget, this is fanfiction._

**Profile Me, Doc**

Part 3.

"Don't look at me like that," the Joker mumbled, shifting his gaze from the road to Reid's face and back again. He was driving like, well, like a crazy person, and Reid was clutching at his seat belt like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plain of existence.

"Aw, come on, _Doc_," Joker giggled, "It can't be all that bad, although I do have to agree that uh, _this_ ain't really my style. A limo would've been _nice_, hn? Wouldja, wouldja've liked that? I can, I can commandeer one right now if ya want…"

"No!" Reid yelped, running a hand through his wavy locks, "Joker, just, just please concentrate on not crashing."

The Joker licked his lips before scrunching up his face, "You know, you really need to loosen up. I can help with that."

Reid let out a rush of air as Joker's hand settled on Reid's thigh. Reid gulped, feeling like the skin underneath the pants material was riddled with needles of heat.

It wasn't entirely…unpleasant.

Joker, gauging Reid's reaction, smiled to himself before withdrawing his hand.

"Don't worry, Spencey, I'm a gentleman. I never take advantage, uh, on the first date."

"You said in the interrogation room that it was our first date. This would be the second," Reid said quickly, his analytical mind jumping the gun with his mouth again. He covered his mouth with both of his hands once he realized his eidetic memory had gotten him into trouble again.

Joker laughed, swerving on the road again before tangling his hand in Spencer's brown locks, "Ah, we're gonna have LOTS of fun, you and I."

Reid held in an extremely unmanly scream as Joker flew through the traffic, weaving and missing a taxi by centimeters before pulling off onto the side of the road and nearly into an alleyway. The Joker started patting himself down as if looking for something, muttered under his breath, then sat still petulantly before cocking his head to the side and looking at Reid with that scarred smile, "Hey, uh, Spencey? Mind if I, uh, BORROW your cell for a moment?"

Reid sighed, pulling his cell phone free from his pocket, thankful that the Joker was having a lapse in judgment and not considering the fact that Garcia would track them even faster now. Reid was counting on only having to be alone with the Joker for a few minutes more before he was finally rescued.

A small part of him was sad at the revelation. He was, actually, finding himself slightly enjoying the running around. It was definitely different compared to the other cases they had been working on lately. Tedium was tedious, after all.

Joker took the phone, licking his scars as he dialed a number, holding it up to his ear, his free hand drumming on the steering wheel.

Reid stared at the lock on his door, trying to go unnoticed but the Joker 'tsked' under his breath, his dark eyes sending all the warning Reid needed not to move another muscle.

The Joker perked up as someone picked up on the other line, "_Hiiiiiiii_."

Reid listened intently as the Joker talked to somebody, maybe a subordinate of some kind, telling them to make reservations. This interested Reid, but the call was finished in less then sixty seconds and the Joker looked at the phone scathingly before breaking the flip phone in half.

"Oops," he mumbled, tossing it out the window before opening the driver's door and jumping out. He held his hand out to Reid, motioning for him to follow, "Come on, Spencey."

"I don't…I don't want to," Reid stumbled, still frozen with his hands on his seat belt.

"Well ya can't stay in _there_," Joker said, biting his bottom lip, "I'm gonna set it on _fire_."

Reid jumped when somebody banged on his side of the SUV, a thug with another one of those rubber clown masks.

"Bozo's gonna help us out, so come on, let's go," Joker said, nodding his head while motioning with his hand again, "Or I can drag you by your pretty hair. Which would you, uh, _prefer_?"

Reid unbuckled his seat belt and climbed across the console, taking the Joker's hand to avoid angering him further. Reid's training was screaming at him to cooperate and tread carefully with the psychopath.

Joker smiled and Reid gulped. Joker's grip on his hand was like iron as he brought him around the side of the car and Bozo held up a tank of gasoline which he began to douse on the SUV. Bozo threw Joker his lit cigarette, knowing the Clown would want to be the one to set the fire. The last time he hadn't been able to, one of the clown's had gotten their nose broken.

Joker's nose crinkled at the smell of the smoke before he threw it on the car and Reid watched as it covered in flames.

"There's a car waitin' for ya in the alleyway, boss," Bozo said, "Regan's 'yer chauffer for the evenin'."

"Ex_cccccellent_," Joker purred, tugging Reid along by his side, swinging their arms like they were a young couple in springtime, "Ya havin' fun yet, Spencey?"

Reid sighed despite his apprehension. The Joker giggled.

**XXX**

Less then half an hour later, Rossi and Hotchner stood on site with the fireman, seeing what was left of the SUV. Squad cars had pulled off to the side, police dogs sniffing the alleyway's trash. Nobody was talking. Nobody was going to say anything that had to do with the psychopath who had just managed to break out of custody. Again. Commissioner Gordon was now going to be involved with the case, but Rossi didn't see how the man would be of any help. He didn't understand the clown any better then the rest of them.

"We knew there was a potential for this," Hotchner said, arms folded across his chest, "Now we need to figure out where he'll take Reid from here."

"He said something about Italian. You really think he's that crazy to waltz into a restaurant? Not to mention it's four o'clock in the morning. Where's he gonna go?" Rossi said in a distracted voice.

"Let's reconvene with the team. Prentiss and Morgan need to be brought up to speed."

"Sometimes I hate my job."

**XXX**

Reid sat at the small candle lit and intimate table laid out with fine cutlery and wineglasses, the smell of Italian bread making his mouth water. He actually was hungry even if it was a strange hour of the night/morning.

Joker snapped his fingers, having had removed his gloves before telling Reid to take a seat at the small restaurant's table. A chef hurried to his side, holding a basket of the fresh bread. He was sweating profusely, two masked clowns not too far away from the private party holding guns.

"No, not you," Joker said under his breath, looking at the chef like he was completely incompetent, "Where's the waitress?"

"I-in the kitchen, getting the wine," the chef said, setting the basket of bread on the table.

"Well, she's not doing us too much good in there, is she?" the Joker said, picking up a knife that had been sitting by his plate that looked far too large and far too dangerous to be in an Italian restaurant. Joker's eyes never left the blade as he spoke, "If she keeps up the poor service, she won't just get a tip, she'll get the whole, uh, **_blade_**."

The chef barked out a command to whoever the Joker had bullied into playing into this little date fantasy. Reid tried to keep his cool, but the Joker was the first UnSub since Tobias Henkel that he genuinely feared.

Tobias Henkel had tortured him for two days and had suffered from a multiple personality disorder. If Tobias Henkel were still alive, he would probably piss himself in front of the Joker.

A petit blonde girl rushed from the kitchen area, holding a bottle of wine, her large blue eyes glazed with unshed tears.

She began pouring the wine immediately, the Joker ignoring her until she was done, his eyes trained on Reid.

"I hope you like red," Joker said with a nod of his head before taking a sip from his own cup, "I, uh, kinda have a thing for _red_."

"Red wine is fine," Reid said, deciding the safest route would be to play along with the Joker's fantasy. Reid had been in several hostage situations that had required him to at least attempt to play along with an UnSub's delusions, and the Joker was no different. As long as Reid concentrated on the hundreds of books he had studied and remembered his countless experiences in the field, he was sure he could come out of this on top.

"It's so…classy," the Joker murmured before taking another sip and throwing the remaining contents into the chef's face. Reid watched the wine soak the front of the man's white uniform, his face more fearful than annoyed.

"How about you go check on the spaghetti?" Joker offered with a tilt of his eyebrow, "You shouldn't keep a customer waiting; it's bad for business. You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to your business now, would you?"

The man shook his head before disappearing into the kitchen, followed by one of the masked clowns. Reid knew there were several of them posted throughout the restaurant, but how they had gone unnoticed this long when it was somewhere in the early hours of the morning was beyond Reid. Yes, the restaurant was small, but there were plenty of windows. Either the Joker didn't plan on staying very long or he had more balls than Reid had originally given him credit for.

The Joker might be crazy, but he was far from stupid.

Joker began munching on a bread stick as he studied Reid's face. Reid tried to keep his face blank, but the Joker gave him a crooked smile, "What's wrong, Spencey? Not enjoying yourself?"

"Not really," Reid answered truthfully, not sure if that was a good thing to do at this point, "I'm very tired and…and people are worried about me."

The Joker chewed thoughtfully before swallowing, "They don't need to worry about you. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, Spencey. Don't you trust me?"

Reid let his finger run along the stem of his untouched wineglass before shaking his head side to side, "You've given me no reason to trust you."

"No REASON?" the Joker said with a click of his tongue, "Ah, Spencey, you're breaking my heart."

The Joker suddenly stood up from the table, making Reid visibly flinch. Unfortunately for the waitress, she had been standing too close. Before Reid had even realized the Joker had moved, the Joker's hand was in the waitress's long blonde hair, tugging her down to her knees in front of the table. She started screaming and crying, begging, and Reid sat frozen in his chair, unable to look away as the Joker put the knife against her neck.

"Shut. UP," he commanded and she instantly quieted, her body wracking with sobs.

"What's your name, _sweetie_S?" he said with a lick of his lips.

"C-C-Cindy," the girl whined, tears streaming down her face. Reid wished there was something he could do: from the looks of her she was probably about the same age as him, if not younger.

"Well _C-C-Cindy_, you're a _**terrible**_ waitress," the Joker said, sliding the blade along the hollow of her throat, "And Spencey here needs, uh, some rea_ssurance_ in regards to _**safety**_."

"Don't hurt her," Reid said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.

"Do you _trust_ that I won't hurt her? Do you _trust_ that I won't slice her neck open before gutting her like a pig?"

The girl was shaking as she let out this strangled noise that made Reid's skin crawl.

"Do you _trust_ me, Spencer?" he said, his eyes nothing but inky blackness.

"Yes. Yes I trust you!"

The Joker pushed Cindy, letting her crumble to the floor before she started crying hysterically.

"Good," he said with a grin before hopping back to his chair and imbedding the blade into the basket of bread, crucifying several breadsticks in the process, "The night's off to a good start."

…..

About thirty minutes later, after both had eaten their fill of spaghetti, the Joker stared across the table calmly at Reid, just watching.

Reid felt a blush creep across his cheeks, wondering what the mad man was thinking. For all Reid knew, he was contemplating the millions of ways he could torture the slender agent.

Physically, mentally, or sexually. Reid didn't know how to feel about any of those options.

The Joker sighed before pulling a silver revolver from his purple trench coat and loading it at the table, making Reid slightly nervous.

Reid watched him deposit each bullet, filling each chamber before he spun it and locked it into place.

And then…he slid it across the table near Reid's right hand.

Reid looked from the gun to Joker and back again, unsure.

"A good, long lasting relationship has a sturdy foundation," the Joker elaborated, his elbows on the table as he took another gulp of wine from his refilled wine glass, "They should both be on an equal playing field. I know I'm, uh, not a team player. Never have been, BUT…there's something about you, something I can't help but want to be around. You're just…too…_irre_sistible."

Reid was staring directly into those dark intelligent eyes, his adam's apple bobbing as his fingers itched to grab the gun that had been offered him. What kind of new sick twisted game was the Joker playing now?

The Joker licked his scars, "You've spent your whole life studying whackos, hunting them down and bringing them to JUSTICE. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. That's what I like about chance: you can't, you can't PREDICT every little detail of your life. The world, your _team_, your _colleagues_, they've all sold out to the system. They _**believe**_ what they're doing is working, when in reality, the real crazies are the ones toting guns and badges."

"We do what is right," Reid defended.

"And every day Spencer Reid dies a little more, doesn't he?" the Joker said, blinking slowly, "They're all drones, zombies. They're already dead, Spencer, but you…you're still trying to hold on. You see things too differently from others NOT to be separate from them. You're too brilliant: they'll never see things the way you and I see them. Nobody will ever understand you like I can; nobody will ever understand me the way you do."

Spencer sat in silence, unable to look away from the man that was managing to break past his carefully constructed shields. The Joker was talking to him as if he knew him, really KNEW him, and it was distressing yet refreshing at the same time. Spencer had colleagues, yes, but friends? Confidantes? He had been working with his own teammates for years now and he still kept them at a careful distance. He overanalyzed everything from their language to their interactions with each other. Although he was a member of the team, he had never felt as if he truly belonged.

Even before being tortured. Even before being held hostage. Even before his addiction to dilaudid.

He was different. Too different. And nobody understood him.

Nobody.

And Reid had always been fine with that. He'd always been the social outcast, the freak.

The Joker was looking at him with a serious expression, no smiles. Was he taking this seriously or was this a game?

Reid ran his hands through his hair before rubbing his eyes, trying to control his breathing.

"Whether you want to believe it or not, you're suffocating. I can see it."

"Stop it."

"They tolerate you. They trust you to do your job. They shove their paperwork on you day in and day out. They expect you to analyze and strategize and know the profiles backwards and forwards. They rely on you to rely on LOGIC and REASON. That's all they want, Spencer, your brain. That's your identity: that's who you've always been, but not now. Now…now you can be…**_ANYTHING_**."

Spencer looked at the Joker from between his fingers, uncertain, "…anything?"

"People have…deluded themselves into believing that we have limits," the Joker shook his head negatively, "We don't HAVE limits, Spencer. What people know, what they have been taught, what they have been TRAINED is what they BELIEVE. What do you believe, Spencer? What do you see when you hunt serial killers and rapists and cannibals? When you're forced to stare at investigators and cops and lawyers? There's something inside of you, something that tells you EVERYONE is wrong. There is no hero; there is no villain. Everyone…everyone hopes that they're real, but they're not. There's no END to it, EVER. And that's the POINT."

"Then…what am I supposed to do?"

The Joker reached out his fingers and tapped the barrel of the revolver, "Whatever. You. _Wan**t-ah**_."

Reid picked up the revolver and stared at it as the Joker sat calmly.

"I could blow your head off right now," Reid murmured, calking the gun while staring at it, "Paint the walls with your brains. I watched a father do something similar to a teenage UnSub that had been about to rape his daughter."

"And how did you feel?" Joker said, smirking bigger as Reid aimed the gun at Joker's forehead, "Wasn't the father _justified_? Didn't that boy _deserve_ what he got?"

"He did. And then some," Reid said quietly, his arm unwavering. Some of the masked clowns were tensed around the room, one of them raising their weapon but the Joker held up a hand as if to stop them.

Reid didn't know what to believe anymore. The Joker was too complex: he doubted if he studied him the rest of his life if he would even come close to understanding what made the man tick.

And that, more than anything, excited him.

"There is no right or wrong, just people living out their lives in denial," the Joker grinned again, "I heard that you're a fan of magic and card games. Life IS a card game, and in every card game, there is ONE card that is ALWAYS discarded, left to rot. Nobody cares about that card, even though that card is the most dangerous card in the whole deck. It neither takes away nor adds to any hand, yet it always shows up in every deck…"

"The Joker card," Reid said methodically, staring at the point between the Joker's eyebrows where he'd love to plant a bullet. This man had killed hundreds, could probably murder thousands. Shit, he could probably collapse the entire city. He'd caused countless situations of chaos, and yet…Reid couldn't hate him for it.

Not one bit.

"So, back to the trust thing," the Joker said, licking his lips, "I TRUST that you'll do what's best for you: whether you let me live or let me die, that's not the issue. I don't care about that. The only thing that matters is that YOU decide, YOU have the power, the choice: and isn't that what you've always wanted? **_A CHOICE?_** When you were bullied as a kid, did you ever get to choose? Did you ever _fight **back?**_ And now, now that you're all grown up, don't they _still_ bully you? Throw you around? Huh?"

"Joker…"

"Do it," the Joker barked with a smile, "Fill my face with lead if you think it will make you FEEL better about yourself. Then you can go back to your carefully constructed montage of reality. I'm sure your team is desperate to find their favorite toy."

Reid was breathing heavily, eyes focused on the Joker's unflinching face.

"You're not a coward. No, but you _do_ fear something more than anything else: you're afraid of _your**self**_. Just let it go, Spencer. Stop fighting who you _really~_ are."

And Reid lost it.

The bullet shattered the nearly empty wine bottle that had been resting in the center of the table, spraying the red liquor in every direction. Joker hadn't even flinched at the noise. Reid dropped the revolver onto the table, his eyes hard as the Joker stared back at him, "Shut. Up."

The Joker smiled, his eyes filled with lust, "Whatever ya say, Spencey."

**xxx~(J/R)~xxx**

"We're gonna find him, Derek. I don't care if I have to tap every phone line in the city, we're gonna find him.

Morgan listened to his favorite technical guru sound panicked over the headpiece, "Get back to us with the perimeters. We're gonna break the grid up and start a search."

"Will do. Don't lose hope, sweetie," and then she was gone.

Morgan was thankful they had someone on the team that always saw the good in their line of work. Morgan was trying his best not to snap at the rest of the team. They were all exhausted and exasperated. Morgan stifled a yawn as he rejoined his team. Prentiss was studying a grid on the wall of the city blocks directly surrounding the SUV's dump site. Rossi and Hotch were talking quietly and Morgan felt like he was itching out of his skin.

So far all they had was the intel that Garcia managed to get through Reid's phone before the time of the discovery of the abandoned SUV. The call had been less than sixty seconds, but Reid HAD used his phone before the trail had gone cold. The number was untraceable, but Garcia was bound and determined to figure a way to Reid, her motherly instincts going haywire.

Morgan looked at his watch, slamming his hand down on the table, "It's almost ten a.m! Reid's been with that monster for nearly eight hours! What are the chances of us finding him ALIVE?"

"The Joker seemed genuine in his affections towards Reid. We have to give Reid the benefit of the doubt that he's playing into this mad man's delusions. He's a talented kid: he's alive," Rossi said calmly, staring into his coffee cup like all the answers might be found there.

"We should be out there combing the streets," Morgan said loudly, pointing in a general direction that meant 'out there', "Somebody's gotta have seen this guy. It's not like he disappears into thin air: there's a trail somewhere!"

"We're not going to know anything until The Joker wants us to know something," Hotchner said in his no-nonsense voice, "I understand you're upset, Derek, but we have to stay rational about this. Stay objective. Reid can survive this."

"Can he?" Prentiss said, not even bothering to look at her commander as she made the statement of the young prodigy who had managed to wiggle his way into her heart over the course of their working together, "No one has ever survived this psychopath. Once he has someone, he never lets them go."

The room went silent.

"I order you all to return to your hotel rooms and get a few hours of sleep," Hotchner finally said, pulling out his cell phone, "We'll reconvene at dusk."

"Why dusk?"

"The Joker isn't known for running around in the daylight. We need to rest to be at our best. For Reid."

The room went quiet again before everyone eventually made their way out of the police station, all in different states of worry.

**xxx~(J/R)~xxx**

Reid stared into the large bathroom mirror. The room was gorgeous, immaculate even.

Or at least it had been before the Joker had taken up residence in it.

The walls were covered in different shades of spray paint, nonsensical designs that blended and morphed into beauty and chaos. And the bathroom, the bathroom was the most swanky bathroom Reid had ever stepped foot into. The mirror was cracked in the corner, but he could see himself well enough. He had just finished throwing water on his face repeatedly before running his hands through his hair, a soothing gesture.

"You ready?" The Joker asked from the doorway of the bathroom.

Reid stared at his own eyes in the mirror, looking at the dark circles. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but it was as if the adrenaline would never wear off.

He turned away from the mirror to look at The Joker, "Have I…am I…changing?"

The Joker held up a flat disk of face paint, "Wanna find out?"

**xxx~(J/R)~xxx**

Reid sat quietly as he allowed The Joker's fingers to run over his face. It wasn't forceful, just a sliding, careful sensation, as if the Joker were painting a porcelain doll. The Joker was being so gentle that Reid's breathing was beginning to change slightly and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

The make up was cold. It wasn't as if Reid had ever experimented in the stuff, but he hadn't expected it to be so cool against his skin. Internally he began reciting all the chemicals found in most makeup compounds and hadn't even realized the Joker had stopped his ministrations and was staring at Reid with a scarred crooked grin.

"I like, I like this look…I like it a lot," the Joker licked his lips before putting his hands in Reid's hair and rustling it until Reid felt like whining from the friction.

He finally stopped and sat back as if he were critiquing a piece of art.

He pulled on Reid's hand, getting him to stand up from the chair he'd been sitting in and led him to the bathroom mirror, his hands never leaving Reid's lower back.

And Reid didn't mind the weight or the heat of his hands. They were genius's hands.

Reid stared back at his reflection, horrified and in awe at the same time. His face was ash white, similar to the Joker's, only that the black powder was pushed in an arc past his temples. His bottom lip was painted with a black lipstick, while two black lines ran beneath his eyes like single ink tears.

Reid braced himself against the counter, his heart banging in his chest. He looked at the mirror again, and this time, he couldn't look away. It was as if he were staring at himself for the first time.

His necktie was loose around his neck and he realized that the Joker had still not removed his hands. Reid felt himself grow aroused.

"This is what I saw when I first met you," the Joker ran his finger down in front of Reid's face as if tracing the black tear tract, "The sadness of Spencer Reid. The loner. The freak. The genius."

Reid turned the water on in the sink and dipped his hands in before beginning to wipe the makeup off. He didn't get very far before Joker was pulling his hands back and pushing him back against the wall.

Reid felt irrational as he began crying, The Joker's hands on his wrists as he crumbled to the floor.

His face felt like it was bleeding. He knew it was smeared, he hoped it was. He didn't want that. He didn't want any of this, and yet…he couldn't find it in himself to say the Joker was wrong.

The Joker got down on his haunches, releasing Reid's wrists and running his hands through Spencer's hair almost soothingly as Reid took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

"You don't have to be scared anymore. Just. _Let Go._ Of your **fear**."

The Joker leaned forward, planting his lips on Reid's forehead, making Reid's hands slide up the Joker's arms and latch onto his wrists.

"Why…why are you doing this to me?" Reid whined, shuddering as he felt the Joker's breath against his face.

The Joker looked at him seriously, deep pools of brown meeting a similar deep brown, "You _need_ me, Spencer. And I need you. No more hiding. No more worrying. Just…" the Joker leaned his forehead against Reid's. Reid felt so warm and, even though it was illogical, safe, "…let it...all…**_GO_**."

Reid ran his fingers along the tips of the Joker's green-streaked dark blonde hair, wondering how his own hair looked at that moment. It was naturally curly, just like the Joker's but a rich chestnut brown. For a moment he found himself wondering what his hair would look like green, what his own face would look like with those permanent laughing scars; that Chelsea grin forever transfixed on his face.

"Are you afraid of yourself?" Reid whispered, moving his hand to trace a finger slowly across one edge of the Joker's scars, "Is that why you use war paint?"

"I paint who I am on the outside," the Joker stated, his dark eyes hooded, "You don't even need to do that. I saw it, I saw the paint from the beginning."

The Joker stood up, holding out a hand for Reid. Reid took it, standing up to his full height, realizing that the Joker had removed his purple trench coat and was now sporting the geometric patterned shirt, the green vest unbuttoned and the necktie missing.

Reid began to tug at his own necktie. He had managed to pull it off before stepping towards the shower, turning the knob to the desired heat.

"What are you doing, Spencey?"

Reid felt his lips twitch, fighting a smile as he pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor of the posh bathroom, "You've seen me without my paint, now it's your turn, Joker."

The Joker licked his lips, shrugging his vest off and already beginning to work on the buttons of his pinstripe trousers, "Don't tease me, Spencey."

Reid stepped into the shower in his boxers, letting the warm spray wash over him before he began scrubbing at his face and hair, the glass door sliding behind him as he felt the Joker's presence behind him.

A warm, wet body pressed itself against Reid's back, his arousal poking Reid in the ass. Reid let out a shaky breath, not sure if he was sane anymore.

Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he had inherited his mother's mental disease. Maybe he'd wake up tomorrow and not even remember any of this.

Reid stepped farther against the wall, allowing the water to fall over Joker, soaking his hair. The water was beginning to stain the shower floor green from the cheap hair dye. Spencer turned in the Joker's arms, tentatively reaching his hands up and stroking them over the Joker's face, smearing the make up until it began to run down his arms in rivers of white, black, and red.

Joker picked up the bar of soap and finished scrubbing himself all the while Reid watched him, his face and body blushing at realizing that the Joker was completely naked. Reid was thankful he had kept his boxers on or the two would really, really have issues in the confining space.

Reid had always thought the Joker would be attractive, but without the face paint and his hair becoming a more natural dirty blonde, he was nearly a knockout. The only imperfection was the two jagged scars that looked like they had been stitched by a blind person. But…Reid didn't find himself cringing or hating what he was staring at. The Joker stared back, those dark eyes screaming intelligence and barely contained chaos.

Reid traced the scars again with one of his hands, the Joker's hands caressing Reid's soaked hair.

Reid arched his body forward, brushing his lips against the Joker's, hoping that he wouldn't enjoy it, anything to deny the attraction, the chemistry.

But no. No. Reid couldn't pull away.

The Joker's tongue ran over Reid's bottom lip before he tugged it into his mouth and bit gently, making Reid arch his back and cry out in a low moan.

The Joker pressed his body directly against Reid's forcing their erections against each other and making Reid's legs feel like jelly. Joker's hands had trailed down Reid's side, settling on his hips and tugging hard enough to cause bruising.

"Joker," Reid murmured.

The Joker smiled, a shadow of the boy he had once been.

"Call me Jack."

**~(J/R)~**

**_*DUH DUH DUHNNN* :D_**

**_You all want to kill me for stopping it there. I get it. But the good news is, I have decided to expand it! It was originally supposed to be a three-shot, but then when I started thinking about how much Reid would have to change psychologically to be with a man like the Joker (I contemplated doing a rape scene, but…I don't know how to explain it, in some twisted way, I could really see Reid understanding a character like the Joker, and I can see the Joker being a bit obsessed and possessive of a person like Spencer, considering he keeps Joker's attention for more than a minute at a time.)_**

**_And remember, this is Reid. We have to be gentle ;D_**

**_But I do promise, the next chapter will be smut galore! I'm planning it out in my head as I type this, so please have faith in me and REVIEW! Reviews definitely help me decide what you guys like/what you guys would like to see, so let me know. ~TPP_**


	4. Part 4

**IMPORTANT: I'm changing the setting to Gotham simply because I don't know anything about New York City and I'd have a lot more to work with concerning Gotham. Besides, Gotham is just so much more fun to say, and I've changed a lot of ideas around and I think it would be for the best. Thanks guys and I hope you enjoy this chapter. ~TPP**

**Profile Me, Doc**

Part 4.

…

_'A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?' –Albert Einstein [Reid quotes this in CM]_

…..

"Jack."

Joker's spine tingled as Spencer repeated his given name. For a moment, Joker wondered if it had been a bad idea. After all, nobody knew his true name.

Anybody that had was dead.

"Or Jay," the Joker added, thinking back to all his early years ripping off mob dealers, back in the days when he was a pawn and not a real player. They'd simply known him as an initial then, and while in Arkham his psychiatrist had taken to calling him Mr. J or, thanks to her accent which slipped when she had started becoming a bit unprofessional, 'Mistah J.' And he'd liked it. A lot. But Doctor Harleen Quinzel was not on his mind right now. Not one bit. She was a useful bobbit to keep locked up in his box of toys for now: she was blinded by passion for him, which he could not reciprocate. He'd wound her up like a toy soldier and watched as she caved from the inside. It'd been delicious fun at the time. After all, Arkham was so boring. That's why he'd broken out, after all.

After the Batman had put him in there after having him dangling off that blasted building during the ferry situation. He was still miffed that there hadn't been any fireworks that night.

But standing here with Reid…oh, there were definitely fireworks. Fireworks were running through his veins as he listened to Reid's breathing, their bodies soaked and pressed together, his precious Spencey turning redder and redder by the minute, and Joker didn't think it was because of the steam or the hot water.

For a moment, Joker was stunned in the presence of such innocence.

Something flashed in his memory, like a broken movie reel. He could remember what it felt like to touch innocent flesh, to be…careful. Sometimes he'd get flashes from his past lives when he slept, but he could never make anything of them when he woke up. They were blurry, cracked, or burst into splotches of white lights and he would give himself migraines trying to remember.

So he didn't. But something about this boy…something about him told the Joker that he had indeed once been human, had understood there were things in the world he would hate to lose.

It was something foreign, a concept he had never grasped for years. He didn't even know if it was in fact Jack who had encountered that innocence or not. Perhaps a girl? A girl with big innocent brown eyes like the boy genius before him? He couldn't remember friends…couldn't remember…

He did remember. These eyes…he had seen these eyes before. He knew these eyes, or his past selves knew these eyes. He just didn't know…exactly…

"Jack?" Reid whispered, his hands resting on either side of the Joker's face.

"I've…seen you before," the Joker admitted, running his fingers almost teasingly along Reid's wrists, "Before all this. Back…back before…I was me."

Reid's brows drew together as he contemplated what the Joker, or Jack, was saying, "How is that possible?"

"I can see your eyes…and there's a lot of noise…and then it cuts out," the Joker shook his head, leaning his forehead against Reid's, "It figures. Fate never takes a back seat to CHANCE."

"I would remember you," Reid murmured, pressing his lips against Joker's chin in a mock kiss, "I would remember your face, your eyes, even without the scars."

"Hm," the Joker moved his hands slowly over Reid's shoulders and up the sides of his neck, circling his ears before settling them in his dark brown tresses, "Spencey."

"Yes?"

"I want you," the Joker began feathering kisses across Reid's face, his temples, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. Reid sucked in a breath as Joker slowly began to grind his hips into Reid's, effectively making him harder than he already was.

And Reid had nearly forgotten how very, very naked the Joker was at the moment.

As Joker began to suck on the juncture between Reid's slender neck and his shoulder, Reid reached blindly behind him to press against the nozzle, turning the water off. They'd already run out of hot water by this point anyway. Goosebumps raced up Reid's spine as he put a shaky hand on one of the sliding glass doors, the Joker completely fixated on the massive love mark that would be visible on Reid's neck the next day.

"J-Jack," Reid whined, "N-not here."

"Why not?" the Joker's voice sounded pouty as he gave up on the hickey and instead began to lick a trail to Reid's ear before nipping at the lobe. Reid hissed as the sensation raced straight to his straining erection.

"Bed," Reid managed, surprised his mind was even able to think with all the sensory overload, "Now."

The Joker chuckled against Reid's ear, making Reid's body buck, "Mmm. I could get used to you ordering me around, _Spen_cer."

Reid didn't really have time to comment before Joker was pulling him out of the shower, not even bothering to towel off before practically throwing Reid into the massive bed covered in plum-colored silk sheets. Honestly, what other color had Reid been expecting? It was so Joker.

Reid sat up on his elbows, barely having time to appreciate the Joker's physique before Joker was crawling over the top of him, his mouth latching onto Reid's like it had always been there. Reid arched his back when the Joker's tongue wiggled its way expertly into his mouth, making him moan as the Joker began a very rough massage. Reid had kissed before, but nothing like this.

This was blind, desperate need, and his body was absolutely aching and on fire.

The Joker's hands were roaming Reid's lithe chest, tweaking the nipples before moving lower and tracing his belly button, all the while never stopping his fervent kisses. Reid couldn't breathe, but he didn't even care.

The Joker pulled away slightly for air, tugging on Reid's bottom lip until he was sure it would bleed. Reid had never been a fan of pain, but with Jack it was…it was so much more.

Reid whined in the back of his throat, arching his back again, his crotch instinctively trying to relieve the pressure built up in his aching cock. The Joker ground his hips right back as if in answer and Reid shivered at the hardness pressed against him.

The Joker's fingers slid along Reid's wet boxers, tugging at the elastic, his tongue tracing each of Reid's pert nipples.

"Ah," Reid's analytical mind began to panic as his erection was released to the cool air, slapping against his flat belly as the Joker continued to pull the boxers off completely before throwing them in a random direction in the semi-darkness. The only light was from the bathroom doorway.

"J-Jack, I've never…" Reid began, too embarrassed to elaborate as his muscles continued to quiver in his abdomen from the Joker's probing tongue. He licked and kissed his way to Reid's belly button before pulling his head up slightly to stare into Reid's wide, hazy eyes.

"Never?" The Joker asked, his voice sounding perplexed, as if it was completely impossible for the attractive young doctor/special agent to be a virgin.

Reid, feeling far too vulnerable, tried to cover himself with his hands, "N-no one's ever touched me. Not, not like this."

"You're…_a**dor**able_," the Joker said, moving Reid's hands so he could grasp Reid's cock with a sure and strong hand. Reid gasped, arching back into the sheets as Joker began to slowly, ever so slowly, pump his hand up and down Reid's shaft.

"Do you like it?" the Joker half-whispered, tugging on Reid's bottom lip again with his teeth before sucking on it. Reid's eyes were practically rolling in his head.

"Yes, yes," he shuddered, his hips beginning to arch into the Joker's touch. The sounds only became more desperate and wanton as the Joker's calloused thumb traced the mushroom head, squeezing before twisting his wrist in a snapping motion.

"Ah! Ah," Reid moaned, putting a hand over his mouth.

"No," the Joker commanded, tugging Reid's hand away from his mouth with his free hand, lacing their fingers together, "None of _tha**t**_. I wanna hear all your noises, Spencer. I want…I want you to _scream_ for me."

For a moment Reid's heart seemed to drop into his stomach as he thought of how naturally sadistic the Joker was, and a part of him panicked, but the other part, the base instinct part, was desperate to get off, and the Joker was doing an amazing job so far.

And suddenly the sensation on his cock stopped. He looked at Joker, feeling hurt, confused, and angry all at the same time before he heard and felt Joker shift farther down his legs, caressing the insides of his thighs until he instinctively shifted them wider, giving the Joker access to his true goal.

But nothing could have prepared Reid for what he felt next.

The Joker's tongue licked from ball sack to tip, enjoying his Spencey's precum like it was a fine wine. The Joker's hands were now settled on Reid's thighs, rubbing in soothing circles as he began to suck on the slightly pink mushroom head.

Reid bucked, crying out as the Joker took him as deep into his throat as he could. It wasn't like the Joker was used to taking cock, but he was pretty pleased with himself when he managed to get nearly the entire length in, his scarred cheeks beginning to hollow before he sucked almost furiously.

Reid couldn't control his hips: his brain, no matter how genius, was being completely ignored by his muscles. His long slim fingers tugged harshly at the Joker's wavy dirty blonde locks, Spencer's head thrown back as he tried to control his breathing.

"Ah, ah, ah," was all Reid managed of coherent speech as the Joker continued his ministrations, one of his hands fondling Reid's balls as he tried to bring the virgin to Nirvana.

It didn't take long. Of course not. The Joker was actually proud that Reid lasted as long as he did, having never been stimulated orally before.

Spencer's chest heaved for breath, his hands never leaving Joker's hair as he thrust his hips up another time, "J-jack! I'm – ah, ah- I'm coming!"

Joker groaned deep in his throat at the sound of his name being screamed so deliciously, his neglected cock absolutely weeping at this point as warm cum began to slide down his throat in thick spurts.

Reid was still shaking, riding the orgasm's euphoric high when Joker finally released his cock and licked it one more time for good measure before crawling up Reid's chest and kissing him, intentionally dipping his tongue into Reid's mouth and making Reid taste himself.

Reid's eyes fluttered and then were hooded as he accepted the kiss, not even caring that some of his own essence was now in his mouth, sliding down the back of his throat like salty cream.

His brain immediately began to recount what he had read on semen production and what it consisted of, but he told his brain to shut the fuck up and let him rest. His entire body felt like Jell-O. He wasn't sure if he could even move.

The Joker laid down beside him, his straining length bumping against Reid's thigh and Reid flinched slightly at the contact.

Sexually sated and feeling bold, Reid turned on his side so that they were facing each other, his hand tentatively grasping the Joker's erection, one of his fingers marveling at how soft the small patch of dark curls were that crowned his impressive cock. He tugged and the Joker hissed, one of his hands circling over Reid's wrist.

"Let me," Reid asked, but it sounded more like a statement as he leaned in and licked the side of the Joker's mouth, tracing the scars with his tongue before kissing him, "I want to."

The Joker seemed to growl as Reid continued to twist and tug on Joker's cock, the Joker knowing it wouldn't take much more before he lost his load. Quite literally.

The Joker's kisses became more aggressive, and Reid began to move his hand faster, completely uncertain of what he was doing but he must be doing something right if the Joker was groaning like that. It was the hottest sound Reid had ever heard, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He wanted to see the Joker cum.

"Jack," Reid husked into the Joker's ear as he continued his pumping strokes, his thumb rubbing hard against the slit, making Joker's whole body tense, "Come on, Jack…"

"Spence_rrr_…" the Joker hissed, his hips pushing against Reid's hand before Reid felt hot liquid coat his fingers and splatter on his crotch area.

The Joker rolled slightly so that he was now on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his permanent smile in place as he breathed heavily, Reid seeming to be breathing just as hard.

He felt sticky and, to be honest, a little bit gross, but at the same time it was too amazing for either of them to comment for several minutes.

They just laid there in the darkness, listening to each other breathe until Reid snorted softly.

"What?" the Joker asked, turning on his side to stare at Spencer and run his hands through the damp tresses of Reid's hair.

"I was just thinking about that old nursery rhyme. 'Jack be little, Jack be quick.' Mother Goose certainly got her facts wrong."

The Joker grinned, his softening cock stirring back to life at Reid's sensual humor, "What can I say, Spencey? I've always believed in the, uh, saying _'go big or go home'_."

Reid snorted and the Joker laughed, wrapping an arm around his chest protectively before pulling him closer, spooning Reid. Reid sighed dramatically, the Joker's lips pressed to the back of his neck, "What **_NOW_**?"

"We really need another shower."

"No hot water," the Joker said petulantly, which made Reid laugh.

"But we're all sticky."

"I'm tired."

Reid couldn't help the stupid smile on his face, "And lazy."

"Not lazy enough," the Joker growled, arching his hips into Reid's backside in silent warning. Reid shivered, hoping the Joker wouldn't push him too far so soon. Hell, if there was more to sex then that, Reid didn't know if he could survive it.

"Please? Just a quick one," Reid whined.

"Sure, I can do a quickie," the Joker said, nipping at Reid's earlobe.

Reid could feel his blush spread clear to his toes, "I meant a shower, Jack."

"I like that."

"Hm?" Reid said as the Joker allowed him to sit up in the bed.

"I like it. Say it again."

Reid considered what he had said before replying, "Jack."

The Joker grinned, and it was beautiful, scars and all. Reid really loved his face without the makeup, but either way, he knew this face.

He knew both sides of the Joker. He knew Jack.

Joker sighed dramatically, making a funny motorboat noise with his lips before holding out a hand for Spencer, "You're such a little MISFIT. Come on, then, before I change my MIND."

Reid repeated the word 'misfit' silently, as if practicing it on his lips. Well, it certainly fit him. He'd always been a bit of a misfit, able to change emotions at the drop of a hat. He'd had manic episodes before, but certainly not to the level of the Joker. He could be petulant, amiable, agreeable, but he was also a force to be reckoned with.

"I like that," Reid commented quietly while the Joker quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Misfit," Reid elaborated, a small smile tugging on his lips, "I like it."

The Joker licked his lips, his eyes hooded, "I'll, uh, make a few calls."

"Calls? To who?"

The Joker's grin got even wider, "If you're gonna roll with me, cupcake, you're gonna need a new, uh, _wardrobe_."

Spencer smiled back at him, "But I'm a vest man." Spencer was nothing without his vests or sweater vest combos.

The Joker winked, "Me too."

Spencer allowed himself to be tugged back to the bathroom where there was, indeed, no hot water.

….

**3 DAYS LATER.**

…..

Penelope Garcia stared at her menagerie of monitors, willing one of them to start going haywire with information on her baby boy who had been missing for 96 hours and counting.

FOUR DAYS. FOUR DAYS trapped with a psychotic clown. Even if Garcia wasn't a profiler, she had heard enough from her team to know what such an extended length of time meant.

Death.

So she had flown out that afternoon from Quantico on her own dime since she had obviously missed taking the private jet with the team. She had fought vehemently with Hotchner over it, but in the end, he had given in, and only under the condition that she remain focused on the investigation and maintain her composure as the team's technical analyst.

The new set-up for headquarters consisted of a large conference room that thankfully housed shades on the windows to keep out the blinding light that sometimes affected her sensitive equipment. She'd brought everything she could possibly command with the exception of her main super computer that was worth millions to the FBI. Still, she had managed to create enough virtual carnage on her end that she could practically track all movement in the city, Reid's voice implemented into every device and track.

If Reid made a call anywhere in the city, she'd be able to track him.

She also took advantage of the city's camera systems, monitors stacked on top of monitors on the desks surrounding her so that she could maintain a bird's eye view of the Joker's past exploit areas. Not that the team had any idea where the maniac was secretly housing himself, but she felt better knowing she was doing EVERYTHING humanly possible to find her baby Reid.

"He's made no contact. No attempts at ransom," Rossi said gravely from a swivel chair a few desks down. He'd just finished throwing a useless police report back down on the desk in front of him before rubbing his temples.

"He's well past the twenty four hour mark," Hotchner added, arms folded over his chest. For once, he wasn't sporting his full suit combo: he actually looked quite ruffled up, and that was putting it mildly. The entire team looked ruffled: even Garcia had to admit she was looking rough around the edges. Her eyes were practically sunk into her head, minimal make up and her fire red hair was a rat's nest on top of her head, but none of it mattered. Finding Spencer was far more important than looking cute for Morgan.

Who happened to be storming into the conference room at that very moment, looking more angry now then when he had left nearly six hours before.

Garcia sighed when she took in his appearance: he'd donned street clothes to attempt to go 'undercover' and try to get information from drug lords, or at least their cronies, on the whereabouts of the clown.

It looked like there had been no such luck.

"I can't do this, Hotch," Morgan was fuming, running his hands over his head as if willing himself not to explode, "I've talked to TWO heads of major crime families and their underlings. I've got under covers canvassing the Narrows backwards and forwards! There's nowhere else to look!"

"Morgan…" Hotch began, seeing how worked up Morgan was getting.

"This kid, this kid was rambling shit about the clown. He couldn't have been out of high school: said he'd helped the Joker get inside a mobster's house to kill him."

"Who?" Garcia immediately perked up, her fingers at the ready on her main computer, "Give me details sweet pea and I'll hunt this scum-sucker down."

"The mobster's name was Gambol. The kid said his name was Willy, but he wouldn't give me a last name. He got skittish; I guess I was coming off too cop-like. He took off, I went after him. Wasn't pretty."

"What did you do, Morgan?" Rossi said pointedly from his chair, his words sounding like a concerned parent finding out something dark about their child.

"I lost it a little," Morgan admitted, rubbing the back of his head, "Roughed him up a bit. He's fine. I-I lost it. I just…I didn't know what to do anymore. I don't think that kid was…I think there was something wrong with him."

"Makes sense. The Joker's known to prey on the mentally unstable. He has an endless supply of goons: either they're in it for the money or they're too mentally unstable to care," Rossi said, sounding like a bored lecturer.

The entire team could tell this was taxing on him and he was losing all his fight. It wasn't a good sign, but the entire team was on edge and unsure of what to do. It made sense that they were losing hope.

Garcia wouldn't allow it.

"I'll…I'll research this Gambol character. There's got to be a lot of information on him if the Joker wanted him dead," Garcia said while staring directly into Morgan's eyes, "And you, you're going to find me a technical analyst in this god-forsaken city competent enough to be able to scan the city's registrars and dig up some dirt on the psychiatric care of minors in every psychiatric ward or hospital in this state. Are we clear?"

Morgan nodded once, thankful that Garcia was giving him something physical to do to take his mind off of his earlier failures.

Prentiss, who had been silent this entire exchange, perked up slightly at Garcia's heated commands, "Garcia, please give me something to do."

Garcia fixed her glasses higher up her nose, "How about you start with pulling your face out of that useless crime report and using that womanly charm to weasel your way into The Purple Pony? From the intel I've gleaned, it's Sal Maroni's alma mater for a night out away from the missus."

Prentiss scrunched her nose slightly at the mention of a strip club, but other then that, she looked unruffled. She looked to Hotch, who was still looking at Garcia as if she had grown two heads before Prentiss quickly excused herself and followed Morgan out into the city to fulfill their tasks for the night.

Rossi, seeing the deadpan look Hotch was now giving Garcia, was trying desperately to hide the evidence of laughter from his features.

"Sir," Garcia finally blanched, staring at Hotchner as if she was just now realizing what she had done, "I'm so, so sorry about that, I had no right to give orders to…"

"You're brilliant, Garcia," Hotchner said before approaching the swivel chair next to her and taking a seat, "Now, what can I do?"

Rossi finally let a chuckle escape as Garcia fluttered and fretted over the different monitors.

"Sir, I had an extensive talk with Commissioner Gordon upon arrival, and…and he thinks there might be someone willing to help."

Hotchner crooked an eyebrow, unusual for the man of one facial expression, "Who can possibly help us? We have every man on deck for this, with the full backing of the FBI."

"It's…it's someone outside of the FBI. Outside of the law, for that matter," Penelope said, twirling a strand of her hair out of nervousness, "He was afraid to bring it up with you, well, because…because he says you're intimidating, sir."

Hotch gave her a look as if to say 'that's preposterous' and Rossi held in another laugh.

"He's a vigilante. Actually, the police are hunting for him just as much as they're hunting for the Joker, but…but I really think…this man knows more about the Joker then anyone, sir. If anybody can help us find Reid, it's him."

Rossi made his way over towards them, looking at the monitor as Garcia pulled up what looked like a newspaper article. Countless articles, actually, all titled pretty much the same.

"Gordon trusts us. He knows we're doing everything in our power to help the city. Well, this man is doing everything in his power too. Gordon can get a hold of him; can ask him for help. It's a long shot, I know, but please, you have to trust me! This man has never let Gordon down, not once, and he's fought the Joker."

"You can't be serious," Hotchner said, looking at the masked and costumed vigilante that was photographed so grainy and from such a distance it was hard to tell him apart from the Abominable Snowman much less the rumored superhero, "You want us to enlist the help of another potential UnSub? Isn't this man responsible for the death of the city's district attorney?"

Garcia shook her head, "It's all a ruse. Gordon swears on his only son that it was a cover-up to ensure the namesake of the city. In fact, Harvey Dent was the villain."

"An interesting turn of events," Rossi said from behind Garcia's chair as he stared at the monitors filling up with magazine and newspaper articles pertaining to the caped crusader, "This guy, no matter how sane, may be our best shot."

Hotchner nodded his head, "Then I suppose I had better get Jim Gordon on the phone. We'll need to meet as early as possible."

"Tonight. We can reach him as soon as it's dark," Garcia said, typing away on her laptop before handing Hotchner his cell phone that had been resting on the desk opposite her, "He'll explain in full."

Rossi watched Hotch dial, his spirits lifting for the first time in days: 'Keep fighting, kid, we're coming for you.'

**~(J/R)~**

Only a few hours later and the team was standing on the roof of a very large skyscraper, the darkness all-consuming as the thick clouds pillowed across the sky, a single lit signal the only light in the sky.

The unmistakable symbol of a bat.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me," Morgan growled, arms folded across his chest, "This is just bogus, Hotch. How's this Looney Tune going to help us find Reid?"

"This man knows more about the Joker and this city then all of us combined," Hotchner said, trying to ignore his subordinate's temper tantrum. They were all sleepless, stressed, and beyond exhausted, but really, there was a limit to Hotchner's patience, although you would never tell by his tone, "Every moment wasted on dead ends is another moment Reid is alone and afraid."

Garcia blinked back tears, trying to stay strong. Prentiss looped her arm over Garcia's shoulder, knowing her good friend needed comfort.

"Besides, the guy looks good in a cape," Commissioner Gordon said from his post, one hand casually dipped in his loose trousers while the other held a half-finished cigarette, "He won't let you down. Give him a chance."

"He doesn't even have a name," Rossi defended Morgan, although he had no qualms with the Commissioner. Far from it: in any other circumstance, they'd probably be at a bar, sipping on their favorite scotch swapping stories about their glory days, "It's hard for someone in our line of work not to analyze him as an UnSub."

"Understandable," Gordon said, blowing smoke out into the breeze, "but you'll be singin' a different tune once he takes care of this. If anybody can find him, it's the Bats. The original signal was destroyed when he forced me to make the call against him and I sent my boys after him, but a few of us are keen to the real information and remained loyal. He'll come. If he's anywhere in the city right now and conscious, he'll come."

"Great. Now we're wasting even more time hoping this caped clown doesn't stand us up like a cheap date," Morgan grumbled.

"I'm not a clown."

The entire team nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sound of the unfamiliar and gruff voice.

The man known as the Batman seemed to materialize from the shadows themselves, and Garcia had to hold in a squeal of excitement. She wasn't sure if she should remain silent or ask him for an autograph while she had the mental capacities to do so.

He stood in full view of them now, the Kevlar plating actually making Rossi nod his head in assent: at least the kid was smart. The mask looked tough as well, and the eyes were cold steel, calculating eyes that could be vengeful god or hell-bent angel.

Prentiss felt her heart flutter and immediately felt disgusted with herself.

Morgan snorted, "Nah, you're right, man. You're a flying rodent."

"Derek Morgan, I presume," the Batman barked out, his eyes then trailing on to the other members of the team, "David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, and Penelope Garcia."

"Well you sure work fast," Rossi commented with a grin, "Maybe he should join our team, Hotch."

Hotchner barely suppressed a smile before Morgan was fuming again.

"So what'd'ya got, Bat head? Your boy the Joker jacked one of our agents. What're you going to do about it?"

"Morgan," Hotch warned, but the Batman was staring at him steadily.

"The Joker is psychotic. He's beyond reason. I knew Arkham wouldn't hold him forever. He's a force that isn't human. You can blame me for all the trouble he's caused, but it won't help you find Spencer Reid any faster."

At that moment, Morgan lost all composure and flung himself at the Batman, fist swinging. The Batman easily dodged several of his blows, lifting his forearms in a protective stance before neatly tripping the agent and bringing him to his knees. Morgan cursed, rolling over and getting back up again.

"We need to find him," Morgan huffed, breathing heavily from their tussle. The Batman looked unfazed, "We need to find him. It's been days. Nobody's ever survived the Joker, right? Right? If you know something, spit it out!"

"Morgan, this is not helping. Take a walk," Hotchner stated icily, obviously upset with his agent's behavior.

Morgan cursed again before moving towards the side of the building, obviously needing some air and a moment for his testosterone to calm down.

"Please forgive him. He…sees Reid as a little brother. It's very difficult for him," Hotchner amended as the Batman nodded.

"I must admit that he's right. The Joker doesn't keep people for long, and if he does, he disposes of them effortlessly. He doesn't care about anyone or anything; that's why it was so difficult to contain him in the first place."

The team looked like they had been punched in the gut at the Batman's words, but he continued, "but I swear to you I will help you find him. The Joker is unpredictable: if what Gordon and your team have told me is truth, that the Joker is in fact infatuated with the young doctor, I believe there is a very good chance of rescuing him. I will contact Gordon tomorrow evening."

"What're you going to do?" Garcia couldn't help but blurt, trying to keep her composure.

"If I start a bit of trouble, provoke a few choice people, I'm sure the Joker will come out to play. He can't stay away from mayhem for long, even if he does have a victim."

"What do you mean victim?" Garcia nearly cried, wiping at her eyes, "Don't call Reid a victim! He's…he's not dead. Not…not yet!"

Prentiss tried to hush her and rub her back soothingly, but she was beginning to sob and there was no stopping an emotional Garcia.

"You bring my baby boy back to me! Do you understand me? Failure is NOT an option! If anything's happened to him…oh God…is the Joker torturing him?"

"Let me do what I can tonight. I will contact Gordon the moment I can confirm anything about his whereabouts. You have my word."

And with that, the Batman approached a ledge where he…stepped right off.

"Are…did that really just happen?" Rossi said, hands in his pockets as he looked at Gordon.

Gordon shrugged his shoulders, "He's really good at that."

**~(J/R)~**

**12 DAYS LATER**

**~(J/R)~**

Spencer sat at the immaculate table laden with plenty of breakfast goods to keep him full for days. Croissants littered his plate along with a muffin and a strawberry, which he was currently picking up and examining before pressing it to his lips and sucking in its sweet juice.

"Good mor_ning_, pumpkin head," the Joker said, taking a seat across the dainty table from his very adorable and very sexy new asset, appreciating the new clothing Spencer had been donning the past few days. He'd had his seamstress, a very unhinged young woman with an incredible drug problem, take care of the fittings and had his Spencer spick and span in less then a day.

He had designed the outfit himself while still keeping in mind Spencer's personal tastes, so he felt as if the outcome was a success. Black trousers adorned his long legs while a blood red starched button-down shirt (the Joker DID have a thing for red, and Reid had consented it was a color he didn't sport often) made up the top along with black suspenders. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows to avoid frustration. A black vest with white pinstripes was fitted to his thin frame, hiding the suspenders but Joker had always liked a layered challenge. The look was polished off with a silky white tie and the young man's black and white Converse sneakers, the same sneakers of his abduction. Reid had been vehement about keeping them and the Joker had thought it too adorable to argue. Besides, the Joker didn't care about shoes.

And the Joker had been surprised more than anyone to wake up one morning and find Reid in the bathroom, cutting his long tresses with one of the Joker's favorite knives. The Joker had liked his hair long (something nice to tug on during naughty time) but he had to give it to Spencer that he could pull off a shorter haircut too.

Besides, now he just wanted to run his hands through the soft brown locks even _more_.

"Good morning, Jack," Reid responded with a small tilt of his lips, a quirky grin that made Joker's heart skip a beat every time he saw it.

People said that the Joker didn't have a heart, but they were wrong. He was still human. Very, very human considering the past sixteen days of companionship. The first week neither the Joker nor Reid had left Joker's current living accommodations. The Joker had been vehement about them knowing everything about each other, and that meant _everything_.

And when your lover had an eidetic memory, that took a really fucking long time.

But it had been worth it; he felt as if he understood Spencer more than _anyone_, and that was the _point_. He knew now that the young doctor completed him in a way that nobody else ever could; could connect with him on a level that nobody else would ever see or understand.

They were kindred spirits. Yin and Yang. Innocence and Corruption. Light and Darkness. Take your pick.

And the Joker would never admit it to anyone, but he actually did feel human around Spencer. As if the world actually…didn't…have to burn. He still wanted it to, but now he had nagging feelings of guilt towards Spencer.

He was afraid. The Joker, the greatest criminal mind Gotham had ever seen, was actually afraid of something now.

And that fear was the thought of being separated from Spencer.

And that, well…the Joker didn't know how to _feel_ about that. He was infatuated with the boy, sure, but anything beyond that…could he risk it? He wasn't…he wasn't entirely human anymore. Whatever had happened to him in the past, whatever had caused his metamorphosis…he wasn't sure there was _ever_ going to be a way to go back.

But what if Spencer accepted him for that? Understood him despite it and moved on with him into the future? The Joker liked the thought of that, and so far Spencer was being quite cooperative. He adored his new outfit and had already gone with the Joker on a few missions involving lots and lots of gasoline and matches. The Joker had gotten Spencer his own gun and he carried it on him, but he had yet to use it. Understandable. Spencer hadn't killed nearly as many as he had in his lifetime, so he was willing to give the poor kid a break. After all, this was a lot of change in a short amount of time. The Joker had had to shoot a goon in front of Spencer two days ago and Reid hadn't even flinched, which had surprised the Joker immensely.

The Joker was all muscle and he was lean, but even he had to have at least forty pounds on the slender doctor, but apparently Reid was made of tougher stuff. Maybe it had been from all the time spent in the field, but Joker thought it ran deeper then that. Reid was beginning to open his eyes, see the world for what it really was, and the Joker couldn't wait to see what a brilliant mind like his could cook up.

With a name like The Misfit, he'd need to back up a reputation.

And it had been entertaining, to say the least, while setting some fires and blowing some random shit up, that Spencer had felt the need to rattle off chemical compounds and different compositions. He'd even enlightened the Joker on the history of dynamite.

It had made him want to fuck Reid through a wall, but he hadn't. Naughty time was progressing, but Joker was being patient. He wanted Reid to want it, and for once, Joker wasn't taking what he wanted by sheer force. Sure, he had kidnapped the kid, but he wasn't going to go down for rape too.

His goons were given orders to protect Reid with their very lives, and if even a hair on his head was disturbed, the Joker had promised that they would be gutted like fish and left to rot in Gotham Harbor.

Joker looked up from his now half-finished plate, noticing the creased eyebrows of his younger lover (technically the Joker didn't know how old he was, but he knew he was a few years ahead of Spencer), "Something wrong, buttercup?"

Reid chewed thoughtfully on a croissant before staring at it like it held the secret to the meaning of the universe, "I was thinking about what you said, about having met me before. Logically I have a hard time believing it but…I can't help but have that same feeling. From the moment I saw you in that interrogation room, I felt as if…somehow I KNEW you, I just didn't know how."

"Some things are just meant to be," the Joker said, licking his scars. He was currently featuring his war paint, although Reid was so used to it by this point it was no longer scary. Reid knew that he was slowly but surely becoming desensitized to the Joker, but a part of him didn't want to stop it.

He was actually content. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he belonged somewhere. The Joker didn't care about his intelligence or how many degrees he possessed; he didn't care about his field experience or how many criminals he had brought to justice. He didn't care that he came from a broken family and had a mother that was schizophrenic. He didn't care that Reid used to be an addict.

It was all trivial in the Joker's eyes, and that made Reid attracted to him even more. He was an enigma, and he couldn't remember everything about his past, but Reid knew enough about him now that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn't want to go back to his previous life. Joker couldn't tell him what happened to Jack a long time ago, couldn't tell him about the 'before' time because he _couldn't_, not because he _wouldn't_.

And so here they were, seemingly brought together by fate, laced by it, according to their reactions upon seeing each other. Reid didn't believe in reincarnation or any of that metaphysical spirituality, but there was something…something keeping them like this…and it was nice.

For now.

The Joker lifted a small envelope out of his purple coat, holding it up for Reid to see. It was a very fancy-looking invitation that boasted a cocktail party at the Wayne mansion for Founder's Day, "Ready to, uh, make your debut?"

Reid reached to the center of the table where one of many Joker cards was located. The Joker had thousands of them and left them pretty much all over the place, so Spencer had been practicing his card tricks. He held it up, the Joker's smile growing as Reid showed his 'slight-of-hand' trick he had learned growing up in Vegas. The card seemed to disappear right before Joker's eyes.

That was another thing they had in common: they were both very good at, uh, _magic tricks_.

Reid grinned back at the Joker as the Joker chuckled, "Oho, Gotham is gonna_ looooooove _you."

**~(J/R)~**

**Please review and tell me what you think. I couldn't help but think that Morgan would react that way towards the Batman, and in my head, it was entertaining. Also, I really would love some feedback on Reid's 'metamorphosis'. I know the party idea seemed to come out of nowhere, but it will play a major roll. Honestly, what do you think the team and the Batman have been up to these past twelve days while Joker and Reid enjoy their new form of bliss? I'm trying to keep Reid right on the edge; I want him to still be naïve/innocent while still showing that he can be dark and a bit corrupted. I hope it's succeeding, because I have a hard time believing that realistically Reid would suddenly go from being our golden boy to dark villain overnight, so the time progression is basically the reason for that. ANYWAYS, really, please review I want to start the next chapter as soon as possible but I need to know how you guys are feeling about the characterization of Reid, the Joker, and the team themselves. Thanks! ~TPP**


	5. Part 5

Yeah, I understand I didn't explain myself well with the whole New York City/Gotham thing. Apologies. I meant it in a visual way, such as Batman Begins/Dark Knight setting, not in a physical way, which a few of you have pointed out. I should have clarified that more.

To those of you who have been reviewing, I love you. There are a lot of people reading this story (I like the stats option. It's really fun to look at) and I don't understand how so many people can read something and not critique at least once. I write because I enjoy it, but I also write so that I can hone my skills. I want to be a writer, so feedback is critical.

ANYWAYS, I think this story has officially gone off the deep end. Be prepared, Amanda/Adam fans. I decided to incorporate him because he is my favorite UnSub of all time from the series (Tobias Henkel comes in 2nd) and I just couldn't help myself. Why not? It's a fanfiction. Enjoy.~TPP

**Profile Me, Doc**

Part 5.

….

_"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and ghouls, step right up!_

_Behind this curtain lies a ghastly concoction of delight!_

_Horror, fantasy, and terror…_

_Your every wish is our command, your every whimsical desire brought to life._

_But I'm warning you, there's always a price…" _

_–Creature Feature 'The Greatest Show Unearthed'_

…..

Rossi took another swig of champagne, feeling a bit on edge. His entire team was currently assembled at the Wayne mansion and instead of enjoying the pricey decadence of the renovated and remodeled mansion that had been destroyed by fire a year or two prior, he was keeping an eagle eye out for anyone suspicious.

He had been in the business long enough to know someone was off simply by their body language. He knew what signs to look for. He was a seasoned veteran; came with the territory.

Derek Morgan, however, looked like a hyped up high school jock before a big game, practically shaking in his formal attire, completely ignoring some of the floozy women that were eyeballing him with interest. Rossi smiled to himself: two loan wolves unable to take advantage of the deep pocket women for a night because they were being weary of any mad murdering clowns. Rossi was Catholic, but even he could hate God once in a while.

Hotchner was currently across the large 'ballroom', also in his usual suit and tie talking quietly to a lovely Emily Prentiss sporting a black dress she had picked up in the city a few days prior. They had all had to come sporting their best and since their best wasn't usually in their go bags, they had had to do a little shopping.

Rossi had never seen Garcia so unenthusiastic when it came to shopping, but it was understandable considering the circumstances.

The Batman had suggested it himself. Since he hadn't managed to get the Joker to come out and play long enough for him to figure out where he was hiding himself, he had suggested that the clown might make an appearance at an esteemed party.

Anybody who was anybody attended a Wayne function, and the Joker did have serious delusions of grandeur. He wouldn't miss it. Not for anything.

It was the perfect trap.

But the rich and completely oblivious crowd that the team was forced to socialize with was going to be a huge risk factor: so many civilians in a congested space. It would be difficult, but the team really didn't have a choice.

Sixteen days. Sixteen days since they had last seen Reid, heard his voice, knew his fear. The profiler in Rossi knew there was very little chance of getting him back alive, if he wasn't dead already. And even if they did manage to get him back, how damaged was he mentally? The Joker didn't keep sane company and if he did, it wasn't for long.

But the other part of Rossi, the part that believed in the wonder boy and his unimaginable capabilities, kept telling the other part of Rossi to shut up and finish his champagne.

"This trust fund baby sure knows how to throw a party," Morgan commented dryly, looking at his watch, "You'd think the billionaire playboy would attend his own goddamn party."

Rossi raised an eyebrow at his younger comrade, "Be honest: if you had more money than God, would you be suited up like a monkey and stuffed in a room full of other snotty individuals intent on kissing your ass?"

"No. I'd be going after their daughters," Morgan said with a wolfish smile that always seemed to make the ladies swoon, "but seriously, Ross, we're not even gonna get the chance to meet the infamous Bruce Wayne while we're here?"

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" Rossi said with a chuckle as he grabbed another glass of champagne from a wandering waiter.

Rossi narrowed his eyes when he noticed the waiter flinch as his hand went out to grasp another glass, as if he had been surprised.

Rossi watched the young man make his way across the room, careful to avoid touching people or draw any particular attention to himself.

"You really think you should be drinking that much? We gotta stay sharp," Morgan said cheekily.

Rossi hadn't removed his eyes from the suspicious waiter's back, "Drinking's no fun unless you have someone to drink with. How about you go grab a glass from Jumpy Cocktail Waiter #3 while I tip off Hotch?"

Morgan followed Rossi's gaze until he saw the waiter Rossi had been talking about and nodded in the affirmative, "Shit. I totally missed that kid."

"We're getting desperate. This investigation has been going on far too long. Little things start slipping. Stay sharp, kid," Rossi said with a pat on the shoulder before meandering his way across the room to talk to Hotch and tip off the rest of the team that there might be a mole in their midst.

**~(J/R)~**

Nearly an hour later, James the cocktail waiter was standing outside taking a much-deserved smoke break.

He was dead. So fucking dead, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

He had been paid a lot of money. A LOT of fucking money. And all he'd had to do was text to a blocked phone number that Jesse Maroni, Sal Maroni's younger pet brother, had finally made an appearance at the Wayne mansion.

The number had texted back immediately: _SECURITY?_

DEFINITELY.

_HOW MANY?_

TWO COPS, TWO BOUNCERS, NOT TO MENTION THIS PLACE IS CRAWLING WITH CAMERAS.

And that had been it.

Or so he'd thought.

That had been before two men that looked too comfortable talking to him started asking weird questions and James started getting a sticky vibe. He hadn't known the two men were FBI agents, and as soon as that information had been revealed to him, he'd nearly been in a complete panic.

He'd excused himself for a smoke break, and he didn't know if he should go back in there and play stupid or take off now and never show his face in the daylight again.

James exhaled. In the next moment, he heard a booming sound come from inside the mansion, making him drop his cigarette, his eyes widening.

Gunshots. People screaming.

His decision had been made. He took off running, but he didn't get very far before he went hurtling head over heels, his face smacking into the long paved driveway with a sickening thud that felt like it had shattered his skull and dissolved his brain.

"No, no, no," a silky smooth voice said from his right.

James was confused and disoriented, not sure if it was a woman's voice or a man's voice.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetie pie," the voice drawled, becoming a bit more Southern.

His head felt warm, then he realized it was blood from how hard he had hit the concrete. He shifted but froze when he felt the barrel of a gun against his temple.

"So messy," the voice whined.

James managed to get a look at his killer, his eyes widening.

The kid was young, younger than himself. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two, his hair brown and slightly wavy, just long enough to tuck behind his ears if he wanted to. His eyes were a startling shade of green even in the darkness. The boy smiled at him, the gun still pressed to James' temple.

"Don't look at Adam," he said, his voice becoming distinctly feminine, "He doesn't like you."

Before James could beg, the gun fired, leaving him to eternal darkness, the sounds of chaos from inside the mansion the last thing he would ever remember.

**~(J/R)~**

"Ah, good evening, ladies and _gentle**man**_," the Joker announced in full war paint and purple suit combo, holding a shotgun that he quickly dropped on the nearest table. He'd fired all his rounds, so it was of no use now. A woman screamed as it slid across the table and forced a few plates to crash onto the ground, but the Joker was already on the move again.

The room was frozen, nobody moved, and barely anybody thought to breathe.

The two Gotham cops that had been requested to secure the function for the evening had been killed while the two bouncer-looking thugs were currently being restrained by two masked clown goons wearing red suits.

The Joker smiled genially at a rather fat man in a tuxedo before he grabbed the man by the neck and pushed him facedown into a table, holding him there as the man gasped.

The Joker pulled out his favorite knife, loving the sound of it snapping into place before tapping the blade against the man's skull in thought, "Sorry to, uh, crash this P-Diddy worthy, uh, _crib_, but uh, I have some _business_ with a certain snake-faced mobster. Anybody seen Jesse Maroni?"

Hotchner was frozen next to Prentiss while a shaking and nearly hyperventilating Garcia stood behind them. Morgan and Rossi were situated farther over, equally silent and still as they tried to assess the situation.

Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch were strapped (discreetly, of course) while Prentiss would have to open her large black clutch to pull her issued firearm free. Garcia, angel that she was, wasn't packing anything unless she could destroy the men's brains and bodies virtually with the laptop she hadn't been able to bring that night.

Hotchner's eyes ran over the Joker and counted the goons. Two holding the hired security, two in the foyer with automatics, and another one that was orienting himself around Joker but never getting too close.

It was strange, though. Hotchner should have been focusing on what the Joker was saying to the scared crowd, but he couldn't help but notice how this one tall goon seemed as if he was orbiting the Joker, staying in his orbit of gravity. It was almost spooky to watch. All the goons were dressed similarly in red suits, but this one…this one moved differently. He had more…confidence. The other goons were busy causing fear, but this one…this one held his gun loosely in his left hand as if it were a prop. The clown mask was just like the others, the clothes a bit different but still keeping with the color pattern, it was just…Hotchner couldn't decide why this goon seemed more important than the others.

By the time Hotchner snapped out of his reverie, the mobster known as Jesse Maroni was brought to the center of the room and dropped to his knees by a very aggressive Joker. His smile was garish, his eyes black pits as he held the gun to the back of Jesse's skull.

"Dearly _be**lov**e**d**_, we are gathered here today to witness…no, wait, this isn't a church," the Joker mumbled loudly, cocking his gun and cracking his neck, "Well there's no style in _that_ then, is there?"

The goons shook their heads negatively as if to agree, and the Joker puckered his lips and pulled his eyebrows together as if in deep concentration.

"What do you want? I'll give you anything, anything! It's all yours!" Jesse was begging, shaking.

The Joker suddenly looked annoyed. He clicked his tongue, shoving the barrel harder into the side of the mobster's head, "You're, uh, not very TOUGH for a MOB man. Now your brother, your brother is a tough guy even if he DOES have a girly name. You, you seen Sally lately, Je_ssssseeeeee_?"

**~(J/R)~**

Garcia didn't pack heat. She'd never been a fan of guns.

But just because she didn't have a gun didn't mean she didn't have a weapon.

She tapped the receiver located discreetly in her hot pink clutch purse, a signal going out to Gordon's unit.

The mansion would be surrounded with enough guns to last a lifetime in less time then Garcia was sure the Joker could kill the man being humiliated in the center of the room.

**~(J/R)~**

To Morgan, it was now or never.

He was separated enough from the other team members not to risk them; he was glad Hotch and Prentiss were shielding a probably-terrified Garcia. He didn't need her seeing shit like this, but it had been unavoidable. She'd been determined to tag along, and now they were all in deep shit.

He whipped out his gun, making several women cry out and a man yell as he trained the gun directly on the Joker, "FBI, drop your weapon!"

The Joker barely reacted at first. He turned his head slightly, giving Morgan dead eyes. Morgan wouldn't admit that a chill was creeping down his spine at the stare he was receiving, like he had just interrupted a child playing with an interesting toy.

"Ha ha, oh, a _tough _guy," the Joker licked his lips, "You know, it's agents like you, the ones hell-bent on being a hero that make my job that much…more…_**fun**_."

"_Drop. It_," Morgan said again as one of the goons pointed their gun at Morgan. A stand off. How brilliant.

"You're surrounded," Hotchner added, having drawn his weapon, "Gordon's unit's already assembled outside. There's nowhere for you to run. Drop your weapons and get on the ground."

Prentiss and Rossi also drew their weapons, and the goons holding the security seemed to tighten their grips in reflex to the new danger, the men struggling but eventually getting the air they needed to survive.

The other two goons and their guns were trained on the FBI agents now, but Hotchner noticed that the fifth goon, the one that had been standing idly by this whole time near the Joker, still hadn't raised his gun. Not even once. It was too peculiar not to notice.

The Joker smiled, "You know _Hotchy_, you're _right_. We _are_ surrounded, aren't we, boys?"

The goons holding the security cussed while the other two looked at each other as if they were about to abandon ship. Hotchner hoped they would do just that and agree to save their lives over fulfilling a job the crazy clown had for them.

"But I'm okay with that," the Joker said, still smiling that disturbing smile, "I uh, always _did_ love an audience. I guess your execution _does_ have style, Jesse."

The gunshot rang out as blood splattered across the Joker and across the floor, making everyone scream. Out of reflex, Morgan fired his gun.

It grazed the Joker's shoulder, making him cover the bleeding wound with a gloved hand when suddenly there was a strange animalistic shriek.

But it wasn't coming from the Joker. Hotchner's eyes fell on the goon he had been appraising practically the entire encounter, the goon that had yelled like that.

"Ha ha," the Joker chortled, looking at the blood coating his glove, "Don't worry about me, baby face: it's just a _scratch_."

Police sirens wailed from outside as a megaphone declared that Gotham police were on the premises and had the area surrounded.

"A SCRATCH?" the goon said, the voice muffled through the mask. He slowly began peeling it off, the rubber-like mask having to slide over a face streaked in white and black paint, "Do you have _any_ idea how _easy_ it is for _infection_ to set in?"

The unmasked goon trailed his gun on Morgan in the next heartbeat, revealing himself fully.

The next thing Hotchner registered was Garcia's screaming.

**~(J/R)~**

You could have set Morgan on fire and he wouldn't have felt it at that moment. The entire team blanched at the revealed goon, the goon whose face was painted white with two black streaks beneath the eyes, the bottom lip painted black as well. His deep brown eyes looked glazed, his brain hair cropped short and messy.

Reid cocked his gun, his eyes trailed on Morgan, Morgan staring helplessly back at him.

"REID?" Morgan finally choked. He could hear Garcia sobbing and could only imagine the unbelief painted on his own face along with the rest of his team's.

This had to be a dream. This couldn't be real.

"You _shot_ him," Reid practically snarled, "You shot him."

"Reid," Rossi said calmly, "Reid, look at me."

Reid tilted his head towards Rossi, his face void of all emotion. What he wouldn't give for some dilaudid right at that moment. This little masquerade was quickly becoming his worst nightmare. The knowledge that someone had shot at the Joker was enough to make him see red, but the thought of shooting his old teammate of several years, a man that had been like an annoying older brother, the only family he'd ever really had, had been too much as well.

Maybe the kind voice of Rossi could save him.

"Hey Rossi," Reid said weakly, sounding like his old self.

"Reid, whatever he's done to you or said, whatever he's threatened you with, you're stronger then that."

"You're wrong," Reid sniffed, his arm shaking as he lowered his gun, "You're…all…wrong…"

"What are you doing, Reid?" Garcia sounded like she was hyperventilating through her tears, "WHY are you doing this, Spencer?"

"Reid," Prentiss practically whispered while Hotchner tried to reign in his terror and worry.

This…they hadn't been prepared for this.

Anything but this.

The face paint on Reid was beginning to streak. He looked wrong in it; the team wanted to erase it from their memories forever.

"Aren't you _happy_ to see him?" the Joker interrupted, motioning towards Spencer, "Why are you _crying_? Are those tears of _joy-yuh_?"

"You fucking monster," Morgan growled, raising his gun again, "What the fuck did you do to him, you freak?"

The Joker twitched visibly, his hawk eyes on Morgan's, "_FREA_**K**?"

"Don't talk to him," Reid said forcefully, the Joker close enough now that Reid could put his hand over the Joker's mouth, "Don't, don't talk to them."

Everyone was astonished at Reid's behavior. After all, everyone expected somebody in that close of contact, especially somebody that was TOUCHING him…well, everyone expected the Joker to bite his fingers off or something, but the Joker seemed to sigh dramatically, gripping the wrist of the hand Spencer had been holding over his mouth childishly before dropping his weapon.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Reid cringed, expecting the Joker to break his thin wrist or twist I painfully, but it never came. He simply lowered his hand before releasing Spencer's wrist with a bit of force, as if a silent warning that the next time, the next time Spencer felt the need to restrain the Joker while he was working, there would be consequences.

"Welllllll?" the Joker said, holding his arms out in front of him as if he were already bound in invisible handcuffs, "Aren't'cha gonna ARREST me?"

The team was dumbfounded, especially Reid. Reid grabbed at one of the Joker's wrists, "What, what are you doing? No, no. This wasn't…this isn't how it's supposed to be."

The Joker shrugged, "I go with the flow. I'll be FINE. I always am."

Reid grasped at his own head, pulling at his hair before Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi positioned themselves closer and closer to Reid and the Joker, their eyes still unbelieving of the show playing out in front of him.

"Reid, come here," Morgan said heatedly, wishing the power of his mind could physically move Spencer away from the deranged clown, "Drop your weapon. It's over. We're gonna get you some help."

Reid had nearly forgotten about the weapon in his hand. It felt loose in his fingers, heavy. He wanted to throw it, or at least put it down. He felt so tired, so drained. He didn't like this. He didn't want this.

Everybody here was hurting, and he didn't like it.

Wetness was on his face, he could feel the tears, but he had yet to start crying. He sucked on his bottom lip, ignoring the taste of paint. It was a nervous habit of his, something to make him feel better.

"Reid," Hotchner's voice was firm, although Reid could sense the worry, "Please. Let us help you."

Reid closed his eyes before snapping them back open, his eyes trained on Hotchner's, "_Help_ me? You want to _help_ me?"

"Yes. Reid, we want nothing more then to see you safe. To do that, we need you to drop your weapon and step away from him."

HIM. Reid didn't like the way they said it. _Him_. Like _Him_ was dirty. Like the Joker was dirty; like the Joker didn't _matter_. Like he was _nothing_ and _nobody_ and no one would miss him if he vanished from existence in that moment.

He _hated_ that: people _assuming _things.

"You've never helped me," Reid said quietly with a snort, "You ordered. You never gave me a choice. You never _asked_, you just…expected. That's…that's…you're wrong."

"What has he done to you, kid?" Rossi said, his face looking much older than it was in that moment; the stress thoroughly eating him alive, "This isn't the strong Reid I know."

"You _don't_ know him," the Joker said, his eyes trained on Rossi as he licked his lips, still making no move against the agents, "You'll _never_ know him. Not like I do."

"Shut up! Another word and I'll blow your head off!" Morgan yelled, the gun now trained between the Joker's eyes. He wasn't bluffing: the next shot would be for the kill.

The Joker smiled, his dark eyes taunting, "Ah. You must be _DERE**K**_."

The second Joker had opened his mouth to speak, Reid had moved, positioning himself in Morgan's line of fire.

Garcia screamed before muffling her cry with her hands, still crying as the rest of the team and other members of the room watched in horror.

"Reid," the team seemed to say in unison, Morgan lowering his gun a fraction of an inch.

"You're so willing to help me, but why not him? No, no it's always shoot first and ask questions later," Reid said, his voice shaking slightly although his body showed no signs of fear. Morgan couldn't remember the last time Spencer had stood up for himself and a small part of him was proud of the kid, but the other part was horrified that he was choosing now to defend an unstable UnSub.

Especially one that had kidnapped and tortured him.

At least Morgan hoped he had been tortured. Reid was definitely not being himself, and Morgan had to remember that and keep himself in check if he was going to help his younger teammate.

Something had happened to him. Something had shifted, but still, he was a victim. He had no part in this. The Joker was pulling his strings like a marionette; the team just had to figure out how to cut the strings.

The sounds of battering rams were heard as police attempted to break down the immaculate front doors, people beginning to panic again throughout the room, wondering if they would live to see another day if it came down to the goons fighting for their freedom in a blaze of glory or giving up.

Apparently they weren't going to get either option.

A black figure descended almost silently on one of the armed goons, Hotchner still trying to figure out where exactly the masked vigilante had materialized from.

The goon hit the floor with a strange splatting sound, the gun knocked from his hand as the other opened fire. People screamed, shifting around the room, beginning to run, the Joker taking Reid's wrist almost painfully and shoving through a group of people, Morgan and Hotchner cursing under their breaths. There were too many people to open fire like this, not with this kind of pandemonium.

The Batman, done with the other goon, used some kind of wire to catapult himself to the other side, nearly throwing himself into the Joker who dodged at the last moment with a vicious kick to the armored bat.

"I don't have TIME for this, Batsy!" the Joker growled, pulling Reid at almost a run as he pushed through more terrified people who were all too eager to get out of his way.

Morgan tore off at a run, Hotchner right behind him, followed by Prentiss and Rossi while Garcia tried to figure out how to make her legs move. Everything was chaos. There was screaming, shouting, and the sirens were deafening as Gordon's voice boomed in the room, a fresh set of cops pouring in like ants to an anthill.

_Reid...he took Reid...again_.

Garcia couldn't take anymore. Her vision blurred, she felt her body swoon.

She was unconscious before she hit the floor.

**~(J/R)~**

The Joker raced down an immaculate corridor on the second floor, ignoring the stabbing pain in his arm as he tugged Spencer along, suddenly frantic.

He'd never panicked before, never, but now…now he actually had something to lose.

He'd actually looked forward to Morgan planting a bullet in him; he'd wanted to test the hotheaded agent, see if he was really made of what the Joker had seen. The kid had rage, the Joker knew that. Definite anger issues. He could smell daddy issues from a mile away.

In any other circumstance, the Joker and Derek could be two peas in a pod. If anybody could understand growing up without a father, it was the Joker. Maybe Derek had grown up without a father at all, no father figure of any kind to guide him as he tried to make his way through this joke called life.

Well Joker hadn't had a father either, even if he had beaten him nearly every night of his life until dying. The dying had been the best part.

But the Joker couldn't worry about that right now. He was trying to make an escape without losing his lover in the process, something his intelligent mind was striving to keep as a possibility. He had proven himself to be a brilliant tactician and strategist, but now he knew he had pretty much come into this party blindly.

And part of his blindness had to do with Spencer Reid.

He was thinking differently now, something scary and foreign to the homicidal anarchist. He had never disrupted his crazed thought process before, not before Reid.

And now it would probably cost him both their lives for his misjudgment.

The Batman was hot on their heels, his breath practically fanning over Reid as he persued. The Joker shot out the glass of the large stained glass window, practically pushing Reid in front of him as the Batman finally got a grip on the back of the Joker's purple coat. He slammed Joker into the wall of the hallway so hard Reid was surprised Joker was still conscious. The Joker barely looked phased as he pushed one of his hands, palm up, under the Batman's chin, forcing his head up at an unnatural angle and forcing the Batman back. It was an instinctual reaction, giving the Joker enough time to pull a blade free from one of his many pockets and slam it into the thinner plating along the Bat's sides.

Reid felt his heart thundering in his throat, everything moving too fast and too slow all at once. When the Joker had shot at the glass, some of the shards had managed to cut him. He could feel blood on his arms, he could hear the Joker's harsh breathing as he tried stabbing furiously through the tough material. Although the Batman's armor was tough on the back and front and protect his head, the sides would always be weaker. The Joker had known that. He had known the Batman's vulnerability.

But that didn't mean the Batman was out of the game, or that Reid's team wasn't right behind them, coming down the hallway, Hotchner and Morgan breathing heavily, weapons in hand as they tried to make sense of the spectacle unfolding in front of them.

The Batman swung a punch at the Joker, landing a solid hit before he punched the Batman directly over the wound he had caused, the Batman crying out as he nearly crumpled to his knees. The Joker stumbled backwards, falling into Reid as he looked at the window.

"Stop!" Morgan screamed, holding up his gun, "Get on the ground!"

Reid couldn't hear him anymore, the sound of his own heart drowning everything else out.

Reid was desperate.

He only hoped the Joker understood what he was doing.

Without a second though, Reid pushed the Joker as hard as he could, so hard that he wouldn't have a choice.

The Joker's face was unreadable as he was pushed out the second story window, not given time to grab a hold of the sill or try and slow his trajectory. Maybe he had been too stunned by Reid to react in time. Whatever the reason, Reid felt himself falling forward, his palms digging into the shattered glass, feeling it rip through his hands and cut one of his cheeks as the momentum made him graze the edge of the window.

The Joker plummeted in the darkness, Reid's breathing erratic.

The next thing he knew, he was face down on the ground, being patted down by SSA Derek Morgan while voices and noises came together and exploded in Reid's head. He couldn't see if they were looking for the Joker, couldn't see if the Joker wasn't lying dead on the cement below. Reid only prayed that the Wayne mansion's sprawling grounds were supplied with enough heavy foliage to have avoided the clown breaking bones.

The police had secured the front area, but Reid doubted that they had had enough time to secure the sprawling backgrounds that fed right into natural forest area.

Reid shuddered for breath as he heard Morgan's heated voice, "You have the right to remain silent…"

**~(J/R)~**

When the Joker had fallen, it had felt like an eternity.

He still couldn't believe that Reid had pushed him out the bloody window.

"You _idiot_," the Joker huffed as he fled, running as fast as his fit body could carry him. His arm was absolutely screaming in pain now, not only from the gun wound, but he had managed to land on that side of his body when he had gotten tangled up in the ridiculously-huge rose bushes that the Wayne manor boasted in the back garden.

He had to be thankful to the landscapers though: if the bushes had been oriented any farther away from the house, he'd probably have a broken leg.

Or a neck. And that would be infinitely worse.

He actually CARED about living now. Death meant no Spencer, and no Spencer meant hell.

He was breathing hard, moving as quickly as possible to get off of the Wayne property and into the seclusion of the trees. The police would begin canvassing it immediately, he was sure, but he was a slippery little psycho if nothing else. Besides, it was dark, the police were still trying to stabilize the mansion, and he knew his way around the woods.

At least he kept telling himself that. No matter what his past, he knew he hadn't been a lumberjack or an Indian.

_Ha._ An Indian. For a moment he mused over what his name would be if he was a Native American. _He Who Throws Dynamite_ had a nice ring to it.

And then his emotions surged into those of fury.

And he was. He was irrevocably and inescapably furious at Dr. Spencer Reid.

The window had been for _him _to make an escape.

The Joker didn't care if the cops took him. It would be troublesome, but he would have eventually figured a way out of it. He always did. That's what made him special, what made him unattainable. The cops hated him, the entire city wanted to kill him, but not kill him kill him. They wanted to study him, dissect him, figure out what made him tick. That's why he had yet to die, although he was positive that Derek Morgan would be more than happy to eviscerate him after tonight's escapade, and a part of the Joker wondered if Derek wasn't too far from the funny farm himself.

He, out of all the agents, looked like he was the most unhinged, and that made the Joker giggle.

But not now. Not right now while he was so angry.

_They have Reid. They have my Spencey._

The thoughts continued to rage inside his mind as he fought through thick foliage, already beginning to plot his means of rescuing his fair doctor in distress.

The Joker suddenly stopped.

He stopped, and couldn't move for several seconds as the realization flowed through him, ran over his skin, making it prickle in a way that was foreign.

He couldn't believe it.

He could deny it, but it was still truth, something he had always had a problem with. Everything was neither truth nor lie, but right now, it was so CRYSTAL CLEAR he didn't know what to do with himself.

He loved him.

The Joker loved that stupid idiotic naïve Dr. Spencer Reid.

And he knew this to be true, even if he hated himself for it. He'd allowed himself to get attached, very attached, singularly attached, in fact, to the younger man.

A genius.

An FBI agent.

A doctor.

A misfit.

The Joker began moving again, pulling one of many disposable phones from his pocket and dialing out to a private number.

The girl's voice was nearly giddy, "Yes, Mistah J?"

The Joker suddenly had a flash of memory from a few day's prior when Reid had been engaging him in a game of chess. When the Joker had learned how much Reid cared for the strategy game, he'd immediately gone out and gotten a board and played with him for what felt like hours. The games had seemed never ending, and Reid had become more and more invested as time passed. Reid had beaten him several times, but the Joker had beaten him more.

It was time to prove that the Joker _could_ be a man with a plan as he spoke into the receiver, "_HARRRRRRLEY_ girl."

**~(J/R)~**

Reid sat unmoving in the chair they had placed him in. After being processed, Morgan had escorted him into the small white interrogation room. His hands rested on his thighs, the adrenaline from before finally having run its course. He was bone-tired, too tired to even worry over the Joker's condition.

They had been in such a hurry to process him through the department that they hadn't even bothered to force him into different clothes or even wash the smeared and caked paint off of his face. He knew his hair was sticking up in every direction, making him look even more unhinged then he already was.

He hadn't spoken a word since pushing the Joker out of the window, and he knew it was eating up everybody in the department.

He hoped it did. He had nothing to say to them.

No way to defend himself. Nothing at all.

A medic had come in and sanitized the shallow cuts along his arms and the deeper lacerations on his palms, wrapping them in bandages. Reid had sat silently, staring blankly ahead, blinking ever so often to show a sign of life. He felt disjointed from his body.

The medic had cleaned the cut on his cheek as well. Reid had studied it in the reflective glass of the interrogation room. It was shallow. It might scar, it might not. At least it was interesting. It was horizontal, directly below his left eye, curving back towards his ear.

The handcuffs felt heavy. His hands stung beneath the bandages.

He knew he should have worn the white gloves the Joker had bought him.

The door suddenly opened to the interrogation room. Reid didn't even flinch, didn't even bother to look over at who it was.

He knew soon enough. Hotchner sat down across from him at the table directly in his line of vision.

He looked so tired, so worn out. Reid watched Hotch's eyes flicker across Reid's face as if trying to solve a puzzle, obvious worry and sadness reflected in the set of his shoulders.

He set a file down in front of him on the table, rubbing at a temple with one of his hands, "Reid, the bureau has renounced your involvement with the behavioral analysis unit and stripped you of your gun and badge."

Reid's unblinking dark eyes finally lowered until he was staring at his bandaged hands, still not speaking.

"You are being processed as an accomplice. You interfered with the apprehension of a dangerous criminal. Rossi and I are doing everything in our power to convince Straus to process you as a victim, but in order to do that, we need to know everything that has happened to you since the time of your abduction."

Reid's eyes never left his hands.

"After we've gathered your statements, you will be sent to Arkham Asylum for a psychological evaluation. If the psychologist deems it necessary, you will be provided a room there for rehabilitation until a decision has been made on how to charge you."

Reid never lifted his gaze, his fingers twitching in his lap, "Blah blah blah."

"Excuse me?" Hotchner said, Reid's voice too low for him to hear.

He hated sounding like this, like a government-issued robot, but he knew he had to perform his job. The room was being monitored, everything being taped. He hated seeing Reid like this and wanted nothing more than to help him, but he didn't even know where to begin.

Reid lifted his head, locking his eyes on Hotchner's and for a moment Hotchner felt the absolute darkness that had somehow come over Reid.

"Blah. Blah. BLAH," Reid repeated, articulating the final word so that it hung in the air.

"Reid, do you understand how serious of an offense this is? You could go to jail for the rest of your life," Hotchner said, trying not to scream, "Do you understand? Do you understand the severity of your actions last night?"

"Do you understand," Reid began, tilting his head to the side, "how _ALONE_ I was?"

Hotchner was taken aback, completely unprepared for the flood of emotions that overwhelmed him, "We never stopped, Reid. We never stopped searching for you. The team has worked themselves down to the bone to try and keep anything from happening to you…"

Reid lifted his hands, the handcuffs rattling as he covered his ears, "No. No. Before that, before HIM, before Jay. I was alone. I was tortured. And _nobody cared._ Nobody _saw **me**_."

Reid jerked his hands against his chest several times, tears streaming down his face, "None of you DID. NONE of you UNDERSTOOD what I was going through. Not Morgan, not Prentiss, not Garcia, not Rossi, and especially not you. Even Gideon…even Gideon didn't see me. Even HE was smart enough to get away from all this while he still could."

"Spencer," Hotchner said, closing his eyes for a moment to keep himself in check, "Whatever it is that you're going through, we can help you. There are resources available to you…"

Spencer ran his hands over his face, smudging the paint right into his hair as he tugged on the strands before letting his hands collapse into his lap, a giggle beginning to well up inside of him, and it got bigger and bigger until he was nearly doubled over in uncontrollable laughter.

Hotchner watched him in horror as tears coursed down his face even as he laughed, he finally controlled his breathing enough to shake his head negatively at Hotchner, "Spencer's, uh, not HERE. He's…someplace else."

Hotchner jotted something down into the file, making Reid focus on the clipped handwriting before smiling his Reid smile, "Do you know how DEGRADING it feels to be a profiler and have someone profile you? It's just wrong."

"You're not a profiler. Not anymore. The bureau saw to that," Hotchner said stiffly, "and if you're unwilling to talk about what happened…"

"There's nothing for you to know," Reid cut in, his face void of all emotion so suddenly that it made Hotch's eyebrows draw together in confusion. One moment Reid was an emotional roller coaster and the next he looked like all the psychopaths they had taken down over the years, the ones that had mastered that expression of being completely incapable of emotion. A robot. An alien. Hotchner had never seen that look on Reid's face before, but considering that Reid had several bruises on his body, he was willing to bet he had been physically and mentally tortured by the clown.

"Any details pertaining to your captivity will help you, Spencer."

Spencer stared at his hands again, not meeting Hotch's eyes. Hotch didn't know whether to read it as shame or remorse or if it was a diversion tactic. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure if he could account it to mean that Spencer was ashamed of his imprisonment or if he was simply trying to ignore Hotch.

"After he set the SUV on fire, where did he take you?"

Silence.

"Did he starve you? Were you given food regularly?"

Silence.

"Were you aware of your surroundings? Was there any means of escape to the best of your knowledge and capability?"

Reid lifted his head and stared directly at Hotch with half-lidded eyes, eyes that said he was bored, a look the Joker had given Rossi during his interrogation, and it made Hotch's blood boil.

Hotchner slammed his hands on the table before standing up, leaning over the table, "Spencer you're destroying yourself! Do you understand me? Destroying yourself, and for what purpose? How could you possibly want to protect The Joker after everything he's done to this city? After everything he's done to you? Garcia won't even come out of her room, and Morgan is suspended from the case until further notice. Prentiss was supposed to interview you today, but as soon as she saw you through the mirror, she made herself sick. Rossi and I are the only ones fighting for your rights; the bureau wants to snuff you out, erase you. You are a liability when you're supposed to be a victim!"

Spencer said nothing through this unusual outburst; he had never seen Hotchner lose himself, not ever. The only time he'd ever seen Hotchner come close to breaking like that was when his wife and child had been in danger from an UnSub over a year ago, and it was interesting to watch.

Spencer found that he was actually _enjoying_ the pain on Hotch's face, and a part of him was sick at the thought.

_Jack, what have you done to me?_

Spencer remained silent for the next two days until he was escorted into Arkham Asylum.

**To be continued.**

_Also, I realize the time lapse is wonky if we're talking about a complete mental metamorphosis for our dear Reid, but please, let's be honest: if I tried to do it in the span of years, it wouldn't make logical sense or be all that realistic, especially with a team of FBI agents looking for him. Also, the Joker is a master manipulator; maybe it's because I've been a fan of him since I was little, but the very psyche of the Joker puts him on an entirely different playing field then the average psychotic. He isn't LIKE anybody else because he doesn't THINK or ACT like anybody else, and keeping that in mind, Reid is a lot like him. Reid is also unique and extremely intelligent in that regard, a social outcast, a freak, even if he isn't physically deformed like the Joker. Sorry this is coming off as a bit of a rant, but I feel as if people are underestimating the power of persuasion and manipulation the Joker has over minds, no matter how stupid or intelligent. Reid is no exception to this rule: in fact, I believe his high level analytical intelligence is a bit of a crutch, as demonstrated in countless episodes of Criminal Minds. Reid is very socially awkward and has an aversion to touch (wears his watch over his shirt cuffs, usually holds up a hand or waves instead of engaging in a hand shake, etc.)_

_Maybe you may find this a bit obsessive on my part, but I think it's what makes them such amazing characters: both show the bare bones of humanity and the bare bones of depravity in their own ways. Me? I'm just trying to bring those two worlds together with two geniuses, one who has always been in darkness, and one who has always been fighting it alone. Because that's what they have both been forever: alone._

_Please review and tell me what you think. ~TPP_


	6. Part 6

**Profile Me, Doc**

Part 6.

Reid sat quietly in his new scrubs, missing his striped socks.

He missed them so much. It had been days since he had worn his own comforting socks.

He was brought into Arkham Asylum six days prior, the orderlies giving him basic Arkham procedure upon arrival.

They had brought him to the showers, stripped him, and blasted him with a heavy hose before washing him down with a bleached soap that had irritated his skin. They had proceeded to give him a 'check up' in the infirmary (thankfully they had given him privacy this time with one female nurse who had blushed furiously the entire time).

And through all of it, he had not spoken a word, not a peep. Hadn't even cried out at the blast of the cold water, although he had felt uncomfortable with so many orderlies hovering over him. It had given him flashbacks to a time in high school when the football team had stripped him naked and tied him to a goal post for hours.

Now he sat in a monitored room. He had been given a single cell in the reserved wing for the most dangerous or those deemed too violent for peer interaction, although Reid was still trying to figure out why he was put in the high security ward when he hadn't done anything except allow the Joker to escape.

He wasn't allowed to interact with other patients. His disgusting meals were brought to his plexi-glass cell and he was left to rot, staring at the blank white walls while sitting on a cot with scratchy tissue-thin sheets that made it impossible for strangulation. He had started having conversations with the toilet inside his head.

His neighbor, however, tried to talk to him quite a bit. Holes had been drilled into one of the plexi-glass plates to allow air circulation and interaction with the orderlies, but it also allowed other noises to enter his cell, such as his neighbor directly across from him, which made it disconcerting.

Spencer had always been a private person, not liking to be on display, so it was hard for him to live inside of a see-through cage where another monkey could stare back at him any time he wished.

And the man hadn't said anything for the first few days, but now, he would never seem to shut up.

The plastic nameplate on the door to his cell read 'J. CRANE'.

"Still not talking, I see," Crane said now, staring at Reid from his own cot. Reid didn't acknowledge him, still staring at the same blank space on the wall in front of him as the annoying ex-doctor continued, "Why won't you talk to me? Even if they fired me, I'm still the most competent psychologist in this cesspit."

Reid ran his tongue over his teeth, back and forth, back and forth.

"I've heard about you. Unlike you, I'm allowed in the rec room. I have tv privileges," he said proudly, defiantly, arrogantly.

Reid could write an entire book on profiling this man he was offering so many juicy tidbits into the mind of a psychotic narcissist, not to mention the man was very good looking and young. Ice blue eyes were used to his advantage, usually making people uncomfortable along with a small smirk that oozed confidence. Short brown locks and a pointed face with cheekbones a model would kill for. He was like ice, but still soft somehow, which made Reid feel as if they were quite alike as far as the looks department, although Reid was slightly thinner and probably taller.

"So what's he like? The Joker, I mean," Crane said with a smirk Reid had seen enough times over the past few days to know that it was a mask he wore often, "If I ever get out of here, it would be nice to meet him. Do you think I can meet him?"

Back and forth, back and forth. Canine point, canine point…

"He's more delusional than I realized," Crane said with a small laugh, "I just want to pick his brain apart! How he managed to take an FBI profiler and make him his bitch is just TOO GOOD."

The calm Reid, the old Reid, would have used his brilliant mind and found in nanoseconds that the ex-doctor was taking petty jabs at Reid in an attempt to glean a reaction. Reid knew this, and yet, he was not going to remain passive for much longer.

Instead, the darker voice in his head, the soothing, beautiful one, the misfit, made him lift his head, although he didn't look in Crane's direction.

No war paint, no suit, not even his socks, but he felt stronger than this small pest in his current life.

This wasn't a permanent situation. He was far from stupid, and if anybody could break out of Arkham Asylum, it would be a mind such as Spencer's. If he couldn't get his way out of here with brute strength, he could certainly get out of here by manipulating the orderlies and psychiatrists surrounding him. It didn't hurt having an eidetic memory. He knew more about the layout of the asylum then half the patients just from being observant on his walk in the first day.

"So what? Are you his new favorite toy? Did he get tired of you? Is that why you're here?" his questions continued, Reid finally moving to his breakfast tray.

He picked up his unused strawberry jam preserve, unwrapping the plastic as Crane continued, suddenly beginning a lecture on alter egos and personalities. Spencer already had that kind of information stored forever in his brain, so he ignored Crane and began running his finger in the strawberry jam and writing on the see-through wall so that Crane could see.

Crane stopped rambling, his brows drawing together as he watched Reid work. It was small, neat, precise, a simple message:

_I'm Gonna Get You. _

Spencer watched Crane read it again before looking at Spencer with incredulity, Spencer raising a finger to his lips as if to shush him.

He did. For the rest of the night and the next day, the hallway was as silent as a grave.

**~(J/R)~**

"Spencer…I don't even know what to say," Garcia began, tears streaking down her cheeks as she held the thousandth tissue up to her face, "Please, just, please say something to me. I'm not here to profile you or pick you apart: I don't want any answers: I don't _care _about any of that. I just…please tell me something about yourself. Let me know that you're okay!"

Reid's face fell as he stared across the small plastic table at his visitor. They'd been brought to one of the rooms used for psychiatric treatment, the room barren and deserted now except for the table and two chairs. Spencer's chains rattled: they still didn't trust him within an inch of their life, so the arm bar with cuffs and the shackles between his feet were starting to get annoying.

"Why are you so upset?" Spencer finally said softly, watching the tears dribble down Garcia's face with a childlike fascination, "They can't keep me in here forever, you know."

"Spencer…" she seemed to stop herself and switch trains of thought, which made Reid wonder what she had originally wanted to say, "Y-you have know idea how much I've missed you. It's just…so good to see you. Are they even feeding you? Tell me they're feeding you properly or there's gonna be hell to pay from Penelope Garcia."

Reid felt his mouth lift up in the first genuine smile he'd had in what felt like weeks. He hadn't been in Arkham for nearly that long, but his first psychiatrist appointment was today and he was glad that out of all the people to visit him today it had been Garcia's turn.

Reid wondered why Morgan had still not come to see him.

Hotchner, Rossi, Prentiss, even JJ had flown in by this point. Morgan stayed away. Hotchner hadn't offered up any information as to his whereabouts so Reid hadn't asked.

In all honesty, he didn't even really care.

"The coffee's terrible," Reid consented, knowing Garcia would sympathize with the caffeine addict, "I actually miss the bureau coffee machine."

Garcia laughed, dabbing at her face with her hands, smudging makeup but unconcerned with it as she tried to imagine anybody missing that temperamental piece of junk that kept the bureau's agents on their toes, "God I miss you, Spencer. When can you come home?"

Reid felt his heart clench. Out of all the members of the BAU, Garcia was the only one who wore her heart on her sleeve, which was one reason Reid was probably considered her 'baby'. She was a bit of a mother hen, and Reid had been overwhelmed with her emotionality when he had first met her, but now he found it to be one of her most endearing qualities. Out of all the people on the team, her enthusiasm for life and her wit and undeniable charm kept Reid homesick.

Home. What was home? It certainly hadn't been Vegas with a schizophrenic mother who didn't even know what day it was. Home wasn't the hole-in-the-wall apartment Spencer had been living in Quantico for the past few years when he had decided to join the BAU. That place was just a place to rest his busy brain. His heart certainly wasn't back in his apartment, and it wasn't at the offices either. It wasn't at his desk, but he knew he was letting his family down with his radical new choices in living.

Even he wasn't sure what to make of all of his changes, emotional or not.

He knew he was going through a metamorphosis of some kind.

He also knew that he was helpless to stop it.

"I love you," Spencer blurted softly, Penelope's entire body stiffening and then relaxing slightly at the confession she had never heard before, "I love you all very much, but…but I can't leave him. I can't. He's important to me."

"Spencer…" Penelope looked like she was going to start bawling again and Reid hoped she wouldn't: he didn't want to see any more tears from somebody he viewed as a close aunt or an older sister.

"He needs me. And I need him," Reid said confidently, a small smile on his face as he looked across the table at his female friend, "I want you to understand that there is nothing you could have done to prevent this. Despite what everybody believes, he never hurt me. These bruises…these bruises were not done out of hate or malice. He loves me."

Penelope looked like she was going to fall over or out of her chair. She didn't, but Reid kept expecting her to. She said nothing for a full minute before sucking in a breath and looking into Spencer's eyes like a concerned parent, "You honestly expect me to believe that? Reid that mad man isn't CAPABLE of loving someone! He's proven that he doesn't care about anyone or ANYTHING. He can't: I'm not even a profiler, and I know he can't!"

Reid shook his head from side to side, "You'll never understand, none of you will, but I don't care."

"Reid!" she said, wiping at her eyes again.

"I don't care. They can lock me up and throw away the key, and you know what? It won't change how he feels about me. He'll come for me. It's only a matter of time," Reid said matter-of-factly, leaning in on the table as if to tell Garcia a secret, "The question is: how many more people have to die before the bureau understands what I mean to the Joker?"

Garcia shook her head, staring down at the table as she tried to gather her thoughts, "Reid, we care about you, we're family. Why are you sacrificing us to that…that…monster?"

"I'm not sacrificing you," Reid said, leaning back in his chair, giving her a quirked smile, "I'M the sacrifice. The willing sacrifice. Nobody _understands_ now, but they _will_. You'll see."

"And then what? What happens then?"

Reid shrugged, "Then I'll get to say _I told you so._"

**~(J/R)~ A Few Days Later.**

"Good morning, Spencer. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Harleen Quinzel said from her seat opposite Reid. Reid ignored the video monitor she had propped up in his direction. She had said it was necessary for their interviews, but it only made Spencer feel as if he was being exhibited again. He'd clammed up completely the first two sessions, but by the third one Quinzel had seemed so genuine in trying to understand Reid's feelings towards the Joker that Reid hadn't been able to help getting a little attached to the pretty young psychiatrist in a companionable way.

"On a scale of one to ten? Maybe three," Spencer said with a shrug of his shoulders, setting his intelligent brown eyes on the attractive psychiatrist.

And she was attractive, although Spencer felt no particular pull towards her. He was simply observational.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me so intently?" Quinzel asked, a small smile on her face. She sounded professional for the camera, but her smile was teasing, as if she wouldn't mind Spencer thinking something naughty.

"Just observing," Spencer said, licking his bottom lip once before elaborating, "Can't help it. You're just a _natural_ at it."

"What do you mean?"

"You're hot, and you know it," Spencer said, sitting back in his fold out metal chair, experimenting with his own body language. He had never been an intimidating individual, but when one understood other people's body language and thought processes, Spencer decided he was intimidating enough, "There's a difference, you know."

"Care to explain?"

"It's no mystery that confidence is a turn-on. You're one of those girls that know she's hot and uses it to get what she wants. You ooze sexuality without even having to do anything: you're confident, maybe even cocky, but that line is grey anyway. What's curious to me is whether you'd still be this confident if you weren't so pretty."

"I don't see where this is going," Quinzel said with a slight frown. Maybe she wasn't sure if Reid was making fun of her or not.

"What I'm saying, doctor, is that I'm not impressed with your game. That confidence mask is only skin deep," Spencer ran his eyes over his psychiatrist's killer legs, already calculating in his mind how he could use what he knew about verbal cues, body language, and pleasure sensors in the brain to allow himself to manipulate his psychiatrist into the marionette he needed to gain a better footing in escaping this useless institution.

Spencer smiled slightly, almost a smirk: maybe arrogance, maybe sexual. Reid had already pegged her for a woman that was used to men chasing her for her prestige or looks; time to flip the script and have the woman chasing after him instead. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to use her yet, but it couldn't hurt to have her as a playing chip. After all, every chess player relied heavily on their assortment of pieces.

The orderlies were pawns, maybe rooks: to be used once and then discarded or sacrificed.

Jonathan Crane was his knight, a useful piece to be molded to his liking. Knights were very useful and if used correctly could be brilliant in strategy. Jonathan Crane had proven that he had the mental facilities to accommodate Reid's master plan, and now that Reid had his attention and his grudging respect, he was sure he could get Crane to work in his favor.

Quinzel would be his bishop, one of Reid's favorite pieces due to its power and influence in the game, much like the psychiatrist herself. She had knowledge and know-how that Reid would need to get out successfully and, if he manipulated her correctly, perhaps he could even make her assist in the escape willingly…

Reid was the King. Many people mistook the King as the most important piece, but that wasn't true. The most important piece in the game, the piece that was free to do pretty much anything it pleased and was the most dangerous, the piece that was feared and loved, the piece that conquered and destroyed all in it's path was the Queen.

Reid snorted at the thought of comparing Joker to a queen, but it was true in terms of chess. The Joker and the queen piece had too much in common for it not to fit, and Reid liked the analogy he had created.

Everything had always been simple to Reid in terms of chess.

If he treated everything like a game of chess, he was pretty much unstoppable. He thought dozens of steps ahead, a true marksmen, a deadly predator.

Now all that was left was to put the theory to the test.

**~(J/R)~**

"On a scale of one to ten? Maybe three."

The Joker replayed the video feed for what felt like the thousandth time, a small smile transforming his face as he froze the image of his darling, soaking up the beauty of his younger lover.

Joker ran his tongue over his bottom lip, craving Spencer's touch and taste more than air.

One of his goons had just given him this interview tape. Doctor Quinzel, as she was one of the leading psychologists of the asylum, had been granted private audience with her current patient, a young troubled doctor recently discharged from the FBI 'due to emotional trauma and terrorist involvement'.

Joker had given her explicit instructions to make sure the camera was constantly focused on Spencer's body and face and to make sure that she never hinted involvement with the clown crime lord. That would be revealed soon enough, but not quite yet. He needed a little more time to make sure that Gotham paid dearly for their capture and containment of his Spencer.

And oh how they would pay. The Joker felt like he might just throw up from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Another day, maybe two, and he'd show Gotham and the BAU how unfunny the Joker could truly be.

"W-what's gonna happen to Spencer?" a meek voice asked somewhere from Joker's peripheral.

Joker huffed, trying not to roll his eyes at the sad poor little boy that Spencer had managed to talk him into 'rescuing' from a psychiatric treatment clinic a few states away.

Not that the Joker had had time to go break the kid out himself, but he'd called in a favor from some old…acquaintances…and about two days later the kid had showed up, Spencer and the kid barely having a moment of reunion before the kid got freaky-deaky with his 'other self' and even the Joker was thrown off his game for a bit with his alter ego, this Amanda character.

Who could be a hell of a lot of fun and had a backbone, for once. That was rare in a female these days.

And at first Joker had been a little…well, jealous of the kid. He was gorgeous, and it was obvious that the kid, Adam, had a very strong affection for him, but the Joker watched their interaction like he was a little puppy or something watching his master bumble about. It was actually quite cute, and even though Adam seemed to have a problem with eye contact and confidence, his alter had no problem with those areas whatsoever, including murder and torture.

So for now, the kid was all right, and he was especially helpful in getting a hold of his Spencer.

Not to mention Adam physically reminded him of himself, even though he could barely remember his other lives, sometimes he would get flashbacks of looking in a mirror, in a younger face, a face that hadn't been marked with a grotesque smile. Adam had such a young innocent-looking face, but his green eyes were different when Amanda was out to play.

Joker looked at the Kid (who he would continue to call kid until he could think of a word that described Adam's male-female psycho-drama) with an almost serious expression, "So, uh, tell me, Kid, you had any experience in the work field?"

"I-I used to work in a hotel."

"Doing _wha**t**_, exactly?"

Kid shrugged, his green eyes calm, "Janitor, mostly."

Joker's grin was contagious, making the kid smile as well, "How _perfectly_ interesting. You know, I think there's been a recent opening at Arkham for a janitorial position."

"Really?" Adam said innocently, not quite connecting the dots yet.

At that moment, there was a scream from the connecting room, jolting Adam for a moment as Joker laughed maniacally.

"Yeah, you see, _Robert_ over there…" Joker waited for the air to be punctuated by a struggling scream by said Robert, "has decided to take, uh, a _permanent_ vacation, so he needs somebody to fill in for him. You seem to be the only person that can fit the bill."

"But I don't…I don't look like him, do I? Won't they catch on?"

"Arkham goes through cleaning staff like a heroin addict goes through needles," Joker said quite seriously, turning his attention back to the screen with Spencer's face on it, "It's easy to make a little photo i.d., especially since Robert kind of looks like you. Just do what you do best with your antisocial behavior, keep your head low, and things should be just PEACHY. Besides, you won't be in there long. All I need _you_ to do is…"

**~(J/R)~**

Reid stared at the plastic tray that contained food that looked nastier than oatmeal. A small red apple and jiggly red jello completed the meal with a dry cracker.

He was beginning to think Arkham was trying to punish him more by attacking his stomach. All he wanted was coffee. He felt irritated and irrational, his body much more sluggish from being deprived from his caffeine. He was still trying to get over the withdrawal symptoms, similar to what he went through with dilaudid.

It was unpleasant, and there was nothing to take his frustrations out on.

So, finally, Reid had had enough.

He took the tray and flung it as hard as he could at the plegiglass, watching the food splatter in all directions. He slammed the tray again, and again, and again, gaining the attention of Crane who was across the way staring at him like he was a fascinating wild animal in the zoo that had decided to go bonkers.

Reid, in that moment of insanity, finally had a plan. He'd been thinking about it for hours, but had been uncertain as to how exactly pull it off.

Then he'd seen the plastic tray, and his plan had to be set in motion. He couldn't sit here, waiting anymore. He knew the Joker was out there somewhere, waiting, maybe testing Spencer.

And Spencer had never, ever, failed a test.

He felt the plastic tray break between his fingers into smaller pieces. Quickly, while his veins felt like they were stinging from lack of caffeine and he didn't have a thousand different thoughts plaguing his analytic brain, he used the sharpest edge of the plastic he could find and slashed his arm along the vein vertically.

"What are you doing?" Crane screeched, slamming his hands on the plexiglass, "What are you doing! Stop!"

Reid grunted in pain as he slashed at his arm again, finally breaking the skin, blood beginning to flow thickly.

Crane continued to scream and Reid knew he was monitored, so it was only a matter of time before an orderly or two came to his rescue.

It was less than sixty seconds. Hurried feet down the hall, Crane blabbering and carrying on like a worried mother or a young boy who's puppy was coughing up blood. It was good to know Crane was that upset over him; maybe he'd managed to get Crane wrapped a little bit more around his finger than he'd originally believed.

One of the orderlies crashed into his side, tackling him to the floor while the other injected him with a needle as Reid tried to bite the one that was on top of him.

"Crazy lil' fuck," one of them spat as they got him to his feet, still struggling and bleeding all over the place.

"Ya gotta feel bad for 'im though," the other said in a quiet voice, "The clown, man. The clown's pure fuckin' evil."

"Let's get this idiot to the infirmary," the other barked, the two of them beginning to drag Reid down the long cold hallway, "He bleeds 'ta death it's on our heads."

As the sedative began to take hold of his body, Reid couldn't help but smile.

That was the first time he had been called an idiot in his entire life.

**~(J/R)~**

Reid knew he'd gained himself at least 48 hours in the infirmary due to the asylum's health policies, which was far more time than he actually needed, but he was grateful for the extra hours just in case his original plan caught a snag and he'd need to revert to a different tactical maneuver.

After the gash had been inspected, cleaned, and wrapped and he'd been given a pill for pain, he lay quietly in one of the many infirmary beds, faced toward the nurses' station to keep an eye on the elderly nurse in charge that night. From her body language Spencer began to profile her.

A grandmother, widowed, respectful of authority (due to her small tit with Dr. Quinzel who had stopped by to see Reid and make sure he was quite alive, her eyes shiny with what could have only been panic). Reid had found that quite interesting: he had been talking to her more lately, but there was no way that he had gotten her around his finger that quickly for the manipulation needed to get out of here.

So what…was Dr. Harleen Quinzel hiding?

Reid's brain immediately went into hyper-drive, his eyes widening as he began to realize all the small, little details that his brain had stowed away but had been of no importance at the time.

His case file was always on top, even when she was walking down a hallway. If he complained about an orderly mistreating him, Quinzel PERSONALLY saw to it. When Reid had practically gotten an erection during one of their sessions because of Quinzel's mug of coffee, she had happily shared it with him, breaking at least three different codes of conduct in the hospital's policy to do so.

He was a special case. He was special…but WHY? He had begun to start charming her, playing the dangerous game of snake and mouse, but he wasn't nearly confident enough in his skills yet to say that she had that genuine of an affection for him to neglect her job's rules and regulations, bending them to her will without thought of repercussion.

And today, she had lost her cool, yelling at the grandmotherly like nurse vehemently like a yakuza about to drop a body in Tokyo bay.

The tapes. The tape sessions. Always on his face…of course they were for her to go over again later, but the questions, the real questions, had no meaning. They were just…questions. There was nothing Quinzel could really glean out of the questions she asked.

So…it was a front? A play? Who was the audience?

And Spencer's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sudden epiphany.

"Joker," he murmured under his breath, not nearly loud enough for the nurse to hear.

But how could he prove it? If he made the mistake of trusting his judgment and he was wrong, things could get ugly.

No. No, he wouldn't use Quinzel. He had to find another way. Reid could do this on his own: he knew he could.

The Joker would expect him to, and he would not disappoint.

**~(J/R)~**

Reid feigned sleep as he listened to the night nurses' and their idle asylum gossip. Some of it was completely useless, but other things could prove helpful for his escape in the future. He managed to add more to his mental map of the grounds, along with several names and faces of people to avoid, wings he should avoid, and where the central security office was located.

It was getting late, past midnight, when he heard commotion and somebody being dragged into the infirmary wing.

Reid couldn't pretend to be asleep anymore: his eyes were begging for the visual stimuli to add to his mental storage bank.

And his eyes did almost fall out of his skull.

Crane was being dragged in, and where should he go but the bed directly next to Spencer? Out of all the cots it had to be the one next to Reid.

The nurses' fretted over him, cleaning the wound on his arm, the one nearly identical to the one on Spencer's own, and Spencer couldn't help but smirk to himself.

It seemed the fellow doctor was much sharper than he looked. He knew something was cooking with Reid, and he had decided it was better to tag along then to be left behind to rot alone. Well, Reid could deal with that, especially if he had been smart enough to tag along.

When they were done treating him and the orderlies had left after cussing up a storm about how crazy their wing was, one of the nurses went off to find an orderly that was free to stay in the room with them to insure the two 'dangerous criminals' didn't get any ideas, although both of them were on medication and feigning lucidity.

"Copycat," Spencer murmured, setting his dark brown eyes on the ex-psychiatrist's blue ones.

Crane's smirk started to spread like a prostitute's legs, "Crow, not cat."

**~(J/R)~**

Adam mopped the floor in small circles, his head low, his cap hiding his face. A doctor passed by him but paid him no mind. He was just another underpaid cockroach in the asylum, after all.

Adam didn't even wait for the spot he had been mopping to dry before he moved farther down the hall, coming to the big block letters INFIRMARY.

He slipped inside with his mop bucket, a night nurse looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"We never mop on Tuesdays," the elderly woman said, putting down the book she had been reading.

Adam shrugged, "Just doin' my job, ma'am."

She smiled slightly at him, "Well it's nice to see Arkham hire somebody with a little bit of manners. What's your name, honey? I don't believe I've seen you before."

Adam could feel Amanda surge up inside him, but settle down again. Amanda was protective, but she was fairly lenient with females, especially one that seemed so harmless and elderly. What a sixty-something year old woman was doing working the redeye grave shift was beyond him.

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. Even Adam knew that he looked suspicious as fuck.

"Shy, huh?" she said with a small smile, "Just like my grandson. Like talking to a wall sometimes, but ah, teenagers will be teenagers. You sure are young to be working in such a dreadful place."

He shrugged (kind of) before moving farther down the rows of beds while mopping behind him.

All the Joker wanted him to do for the first day was examine as many areas of the asylum as possible, the Joker practically commanding the cafeteria, the rec room, and the infirmary. This was his last stop for the night, and it looked like it had been a bust to check in here. There were a few taken beds, two women who were knocked out cold with their hands bound, and a man who was snoring so loudly that Adam wished he had an Ipod to distract him.

He thought he was going to piss his pants when he passed another bed and a hand shot out and grabbed his arm, making him pull back with a jolt.

The nurse was back to reading her book, ignoring him for the most part, so he was glad he hadn't cried out at the sudden attack, but his eyes sure bugged out of his head when he saw Spencer Reid staring back at him with this almost frantic look on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer whispered harshly, grabbing Adam's hand again.

"Reid," Adam breathed, squeezing back on Reid's hand.

Spencer just looked at him, studying his face, "You need to get out of here. Amanda…"

"She's fine," Adam said, smiling softly, "She wants to help. We're getting you out of here."

"No you're not," another voice whispered almost smugly.

Adam turned slightly towards the bed next to Spencer's, his eyes locking on ice blue eyes that made him suck in a breath. Spencer's bed neighbor was gorgeous, his dark brown hair pushed back off of his forehead, the smug look on his face making Adam's cheeks redden.

Amanda laughed inside, making Adam's face even redder. He could even feel it in his ears.

"Aren't you just the cutest thing," Crane said, running his eyes over Adam's janitorial jumper.

"Don't be condescending," Spencer snapped, releasing Adam's hand.

"Who said I was being condescending?" Crane said with a lift of an elegant dark eyebrow with the corner of his mouth lifted up.

Adam looked over at the nurse station, thankful that they were behind a curtained partition part of the room to afford the patients some privacy, but he knew he couldn't stick around much longer without alerting suspicion.

Adam's face was fire engine red as he murmured, "He-he wanted me to give you something."

Spencer looked at Adam with the expectance of a young boy waiting for a birthday present, and Adam swallowed almost guiltily before lowering his head and placing a kiss on Spencer's lips.

Spencer's whole body tensed as he accepted the sweet gesture. Adam pulled away quickly, wiping his hands on his thighs, looking at the floor.

"What about me?" Crane said cheekily. Both ignored him and he began to pout.

"Tomorrow. He's coming tomorrow," Adam jerked almost spastically before straightening himself, his head held high, his face a small smirk as his voice changed slightly, "Mr. Jay has a wonderful plan."

**~(J/R)~**

_**BAHA, I can't help myself! It's so unrealistic but I wanted some fluff! xD**_

_I don't know when I decided to get Crane involved, but it was probably when I realized I wanted somebody for Adam, and I have to give it to the ex-psychiatrist, the Scarecrow's pretty damn hot. For a pretty boy, anyway. I think it's hilarious how I have the pretty boys together! (The Joker would be kind of a pretty boy, Spencer's a pretty boy, Adam's a pretty boy, and Crane's a pretty boy)._

_I see an orgy in the future! HAHAHAHA just kidding. ANYWAYS, the next chapter will get back to what the whole point of this story was for, and that, my friends, is smut. I can't wait. ~TPP_


	7. Part 7

**I apologize in advance for how sloppy the rescue is. Yeah, it's not plausible, yeah, it's totally unrealistic, but it's my fanfiction, alright? No griping. Besides, it's fun to create unrealistic situations. That's why you're reading this in the first place :)**

**Profile Me, Doc**

Part 7 (or) The Escape

…

_'And honestly I have been begging for answers that you and only you can give to me.'_

...

Cliff was fairly new to the asylum security. He was about as average as an individual in there mid thirties could be: divorced, slightly overweight, and fighting a widow's peak. Thick black hair was giving way to grey already and he wasn't happy about it. That's probably why he smoked, but he didn't think much about his health when he was working at an insane asylum.

Cliff was new. This was someone the Joker could manipulate, especially since he didn't like to dress up incognito and play games, har har.

Cliff was patrolling the common grounds, an area where certain patients were allowed to exercise or lay and read a book if they were on good behavior and monitored by an orderly. It had been blessedly boring getting this far through security, The Joker only having to scale a rather tall fence covered in barbed wire. Now came the harder part, getting past a metal door that only opened with a swipe key card carried on hospital employees and psychiatrists. Once inside, he could recall the intricate system of hallways that The Kid had drawn to the best of his abilities while playing janitor the night before.

Learning that Spencer was in the infirmary only made his job that much easier, although he had been sickened to think of WHY Spencer might be in the infirmary. If anybody had dared touch him, he'd see that their eyes were ripped from their sockets and shoved so far up their own ass that they'd be able to see what they'd had for lunch.

But he couldn't think about that right now. He was on a mission. For once, he'd actually…planned…well, kind of planned, something.

He'd sworn he'd see the place burn for taking Spencer, and he was a _man of his word_.

The Joker grinned from the darkness, his body coiled like a panther ready to strike.

His favorite switchblade was heavy in his hand.

Yes, Cliff would do.

**~(J/R)~**

Adam's assigned cell phone vibrated in his janitorial jumper. He took it from his pocket and read the single text message from 'Caller J': _NOW_.

Even though Adam couldn't hear the Joker say it, it still sent shivers down his spine. One word and Adam was ready to carry out his responsibilities the Joker had assigned him in the escape attempt.

Adam had to correct himself: it wasn't an attempt. It would definitely happen. The 'plan' was loose and mostly backed up by balls, but that's what made it beautiful: they'd strike the hospital blind before they even knew what was happening.

Adam took the mop out of the dirty bucket and carried it with him, part for prop and part for protection. He had never liked guns, and Amanda didn't push him about it, so all he had to protect himself was a switchblade the Joker had gifted him on the van ride over to the asylum grounds.

He'd kill tonight if he had to, and only then.

He looked up from under his cap when he approached the office he had been looking for: _DR. HARLEEN QUINZEL_.

He tried the door and found it unlocked, stepping inside into the darkness and flipping the switch.

"Well aren't you adorable," the pretty psychiatrist said, standing up from her desk, "and on time. A rare quality in a man."

Adam wasn't sure if she was flirting with him, but he liked that he hadn't been called a kid or a boy. He sometimes hated how 'pretty' he was, having girlish features that brought back horrible memories of his abusive stepfather. Inside, Amanda was restless.

"Mr. J said now," Adam said, as if it was a very practical order.

She nodded, a small smile on her lips, "I'll just grab my purse, then."

Adam abandoned the mop and lifted the two large bottles marked BLEACH, which certainly weren't bleach, and left the office quickly, passing another doctor who was leaving for the night. Nobody would look twice at a janitor carrying bottles of bleach, the Joker had said.

Of course if anybody knew that it was nitroglycerin that would be an entirely different matter.

**~(J/R)~**

Spencer couldn't sleep, and his mind certainly wasn't helping things. Lying in an uncomfortable cot in the infirmary was becoming purgatory. He didn't know what the Joker was planning, and that was driving him quite…insane. He had had a plan of his own for an escape, but now he was too afraid to attempt it in case it clashed with the Joker's plan, screwing them both. There was no way Spencer was willing to risk the Joker getting caught.

So he sighed heavily, turning over on his side, trying to think of ways to be prepared, while the annoying bird by his side continued to try and start up a conversation.

"That nurse is atrocious," Crane sneered, speaking of the middle-aged dragon lady that had replaced their grandmotherly nurse from the night before. Spencer had a feeling the Joker would have a lot of fun killing her, if he ever showed up.

Maybe Spencer would have fun…destroying something.

He'd never hurt anybody. Not really. He'd been bullied all his life, but had never truly fought back like a monster, like a demon, like a misfit. Suddenly his palms were itching and he felt sweaty and he sat up, watching the dragon nurse as she moved about the room slowly, checking a patient that had started to mumble in their sleep. She dismissed her quickly and went to a clipboard, turning her back to the two unstable doctors in the corner.

Spencer couldn't help thinking about what it would feel like: his brain began filtering out information about the human anatomy, the brain had a center specifically for pain and pain management. There were certain arteries, veins…vertebrae that was extremely…delicate.

He smiled to himself, making Crane shut up for a second. Spencer couldn't recall what he had been blathering about, which was surprising in itself. Spencer's brain should have stored the information effortlessly and he should have been able to instantly recall the information filtering through his ears, but he could not. Was that because he was truly different now? Changed because he had chosen to embrace who he truly was?

"Nurse," Spencer called in a very submissive voice. He'd use his pretty boy looks and slight appearance to reel her in, of course, "My arm, my arm really hurts."

It was probably the whine in his voice that got her attention. Spencer immediately pegged her for a mother, and that was basic psychology. Spencer had never been a force to reckon with physically, but mentally, he was a behemoth.

She approached him, sighing, "Would a shot of morphine shut you up for a while?"

"Bitch," Crane murmured under his breath, too low for the woman to hear.

Spencer nodded emphatically, biting his lower lip as if he was fighting off a feeling of pain. It was true his arm still stung, but he doubted this woman's credentials for offering him morphine for such a slight injury. Sure, he'd gashed his arm open quite badly, but it was already healing nicely and was just uncomfortable. It throbbed, actually looking a bit yellow on the edges as the skin began to tighten and turn pink and heal. No signs of infection. Spencer was suddenly glad he had decided to get a degree in medicine just for kicks.

He was about to put what he had learned in textbooks to proper use and demonstration.

While the nurse went to prepare the necessary materials, Crane looked at Spencer with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. Spencer simply offered him a knowing smirk.

"Oh this is going to be good," Crane murmured, chuckling low to himself. He couldn't wait to see the misfit in action. Both of them had been given a sedative, so he felt like a slug. He knew that Spencer couldn't feel much different, but he was a genius, after all. Crane may be smart and had become a prestigious psychologist at a young age, but he had not tested in the genius range, although his ego still supported him being exceptionally bright. He was perceptive if nothing else.

The nurse came back a few minutes later from a medical station, swabbing the crook of his elbow on his uninjured arm. Once finished, she readied the needle, eying the two doctors warily from a foot or so away from the bed, "I'll fetch an orderly a minute."

"Please? I really need it," Spencer said, turning on his big brown puppy dog eyes that few could say no to, "Do I look like I could take you on and win?"

It must have soothed the nurse to stroke her ego. She was about twice Spencer's size in weight, maybe more. She was supposed to look at Spencer like he was a child, and in many ways, he still was.

The nurse's eyes moved to Crane, narrowing slightly, "Trust me, sweetie, you're not the one I'm worried about."

Crane rolled his ice blue eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, "Paranoid cow."

The nurse must have gotten over her reservations as she checked the needle and lowered it to Spencer's ready and waiting vein.

But it didn't get there. Spencer's injured arm shot out, his fingers pinching a prime nerve located between the thumb and forefinger, a nerve so sensitive the pain was instantaneous, sending the body into a moment of shock, a second that would not be wasted.

The instant pain had the nurse cry out, making her drop the needle, crippling her to her knees. There were maybe two or three seconds before the brain would process the pain synapses and she would regain the instinctual need to defend herself, so he grabbed her panic button which was located on a key ring dangling from around her neck. If she had managed to click that on accident or intentionally, orderlies would have come running. He couldn't risk that, tugging it free viciously and throwing it to Crane, who was now sitting up, staring in awe and wonderment.

"Stop!" the woman yelled, practically gasping at the pain of the pressure point. The nerves there were so sensitive it would cripple even the biggest warrior and bring them to their knees, a physiological phenomena Spencer had always found fascinating but unable to try in practice.

Until now.

He moved his other hand to the base of her neck, his fingers searching out the vertebrae he needed, his brain conjuring up the Latin terms for each vertebrae and disk. There was one disk in particular, if pinched, would render a victim unconscious.

Spencer found it before she cried out again. Her eyes rolled back as she slumped to the floor.

"Impressive," Crane said, clapping his hands a few times before smirking and waving the panic button, "Didn't know you studied acupuncture, but what now? Surely there are orderlies in the hallway. They always post one on each end of the medical wing."

"Get the girl," Spencer said lowly, knowing Crane would think to restrain the other patient. She was a schizophrenic and was beginning to panic from all the noise, even if she was sedated. They were the only patients in the infirmary at the moment, so the girl was the other hurdle.

Crane hurried out of his bed, practically shaking from excitement. Would they really escape? The girl was crying and shaking and thrashed out, but Crane restrained her quite easily as she couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds.

Spencer smiled without showing his teeth, taking the panic button from off of Crane's cot which he had abandoned in his haste. He bent down to take the needle the nurse had dropped on the floor, wandering towards the girl Crane had restrained.

"We're not going to hurt you," Spencer soothed, leaning over the girl's face, making sure she saw his eyes, "We're going to give you some medicine to sleep. You do want to sleep, don't you?"

He moved the girl's arm and inserted the needle as she struggled a bit, weak from sleeplessness and sedatives. She calmed significantly in the next minute, barely conscious.

Crane stayed at the girl's side as Spencer went over to the medical station that Spencer had seen the nurses' cleaning last night. There were plenty of hypodermic needles, swabs, pills, sedatives…

Spencer came to a locked white cabinet and made his way back to the nurse who carried such keys around her neck. He grabbed the ring and went back to the cabinet, finding the correct key quickly.

He should be shaken, rattled. His adrenaline and nerves should have been making him shake, but he wasn't. It made him smile.

He opened the cabinet, staring in at what lay inside. Spencer couldn't help but laugh. _How silly._

"What? What's in there?" Crane asked.

Spencer turned towards Crane, holding a scalpel.

"Of course. What else would they lock down?" Crane said matter-of-factly. He wasn't in an amused mood now as he was unsure of what the other young doctor was thinking.

Spencer walked towards the fallen nurse who would wake any minute now. That nerve was sensitive but unpredictable: she could wake up in a minute or in an hour, and he couldn't risk it.

"Search the desk. They must have a taser for security," Spencer reasoned, staring down at the unconscious older nurse.

"Whatever for?" Crane said, not being too bright in his surprise. He was still trying to process everything that was happening.

"The orderlies in the hallway," Spencer said mechanically as he pushed the woman over onto her back. He dropped to straddle her waist quickly, his right hand that held the scalpel shaking in dread and excitement.

"What are you doing?" Crane asked, genuinely curious. He was still quite afraid of the young agent due to his stunt with the jam message the other day: maybe he was as threatening as he claimed to be.

"She can't wake up," Spencer reasoned, sliding the scalpel across the unconscious nurse's throat with an uncharacteristically aggressive tug before he could blink and ponder it any further.

Crane felt like gagging as the carotid artery spit blood onto Spencer's face and upper torso before gurgling down. Such a quiet death. The body convulsed once, and then nothing. Spencer turned his head slightly, making Crane practically jump, "_Welllll?_ Where's the _taser_?"

Crane bolted for the station, looking in the spot he knew the taser would be. He'd worked in the hospital before, you know, trying to poison the entire city. Of course he knew things he wasn't supposed to.

Spencer got off of the nurse, her blood continuing to flow silently. Crane would never admit it out loud, but he was disturbed by Spencer's current appearance. The blood on his countenance seemed wrong, like a child who had become a murderer.

Spencer smiled when he saw the taser, "Excellent."

Spencer pressed the panic button.

**~(J/R)~**

The Joker was surprised.

The Joker was rarely ever surprised. Usually _he_ did the surprising.

But nonetheless he was surprised. Surprised that the orderly he had been about to bludgeon to death had reacted to a beeper on his belt and took off down the hallway, throwing open the infirmary doors. The other orderly from the opposite side of the hallway ran towards the doors as well, but unfortunately, he had noticed the psychopathic clown. He pulled his nightstick free, but not fast enough, because The Joker was on a mission, and when The Joker was on a mission, especially one as important as this, nothing was going to stop him.

He didn't think, didn't falter, just flung himself at the orderly, knocking him down, pummeling him fiercely with his fists, not even bothering to smirk or laugh in glee.

The Joker stopped when the man was unconscious. He wanted to shoot him, but silence and stealth and fierceness were the only things working in The Joker's favor at the moment. Joker didn't do silencers: that was for pussies who didn't want to make a statement, and when the Joker crashed a party, he made a fucking statement.

But if he made a statement right now, the hallway would be flooded with more guards and orderlies, and he may be a murderer but Spencer came first.

He all but knocked the infirmary doors down in his haste to be inside, and when he did get inside, he wasn't sure how to feel about what he saw.

Crane was currently wiggling his way free from underneath the immense weight of an unconscious orderly while Spencer stood near him, blood sprayed across his jumper and face, holding a scalpel.

For a moment the Joker panicked, thinking it was Spencer's blood, but Spencer's eyes lit up when he realized who had just come through the doors and all but ran to the Joker, abandoning the scalpel on the floor and putting his arms around the Joker's waist.

"When only one guard came in, I knew it was you," Spencer mumbled into the Joker's vest. He'd opted to not wear the purple trench coat simply because it restricted his movement and was unnecessary weight. He needed to be light, lithe, for Spencer's sake.

Joker's brain just about short-circuited when he realized Spencer was safe, warm, and obviously unharmed. He tugged on Spencer's hair, forcing him to look up, Joker's lips devouring Spencer. He wanted to devour him alive at that moment: maybe bend him over the nurse's desk and fuck him spineless.

But he couldn't right now. Joker didn't believe in danger, at least when it came to his own safety, but a part of him would not allow Spencer's safety to be compromised. Spencer gasped for air as Joker used his other hand to hold the side of Spencer's face as he licked the opposite cheek that had blood on it, "What have you been up to, Spencey? This isn't _your_ blood."

Crane had remained silent through the whole exchange, still not sure if he should believe this was the real Joker. Wasn't he supposed to be absolutely terrifying? A psychotic clown killer? Although he was wearing the frightening war paint, right now he looked like the hero of an action flick who had just rescued his girl.

Spencer pointed towards the nurse's body, her blood having traveled quite far for being dead so little time, "I was…curious."

The Joker grinned, pecking Spencer on the lips again, liking the fact that his makeup was now smeared across his boyfriend's face. It was quite comical, but undeniably cute. The combination of Spencer and knowing he had made his first kill, with a scalpel, no less, made his dick stir.

"I'm absolutely, uh, _hard_," The Joker said, pressing his need against Spencer's hip, grinding it there for only a moment before remembering what he was here for, "Come on. We, uh, got a cab 'ta catch."

The Joker grasped Spencer's hand like he would never let go of it before noticing the blue-eyed lanky pretty boy again and started laughing, "You, uh, get a gold _star_ for your _ser_vices."

Crane looked confused for a moment, Spencer knowing that The Joker had basically given the doctor a free walk. A free walk to live that is.

"I'm coming with you," Crane said steadily, actually managing to maintain eye contact with the clown prince of crime, "I'm not staying here to rot."

The Joker clicked his tongue against his cheek, "You're useless to me."

The way he said it made Spencer's spine tingle: he sounded like a businessman in that moment, or a mobster: cold, calculating, and callous.

"I think this is a beautiful business opportunity," Crane said with a small smirk, "I think you've heard of my fear toxin?"

The Joker smiled, his scars tugging his mouth, "Ha HA, ah, I've heard, uh, _stories_. I've, uh, seen what that scaredy jumpy juice can do…" he trailed off, licking his lips before tugging Spencer towards the door, "_Fortunately_ for you, I might be able to, uh, fit you in the _trunk_."

Without another word the Joker spun out into the hallway, tugging Spencer behind him, Crane following not far after, confused by the meaning of Joker's words.

"_Trunk_?" Crane asked as they ran down another labyrinth of hallways. Crane didn't like the sound of that. Trunks implied…dead bodies.

The Joker simply laughed as they careened down another hallway, Spencer's fear spiking when he noticed someone standing in the hallway, as if patiently waiting for them.

Dr. Quinzel looked at them with a smirk, the Joker staring at her darkly.

Something silent was exchanged between them, and Spencer didn't know what it was, but he didn't like it. Confusion clashed with jealousy, making him bloodthirsty.

He wanted to break her jaw. Hit her with a metal bat. Take a meat cleaver to her face.

Spencer felt suddenly nauseous at the riotous thoughts, sickened yet intrigued at the same time. Was he truly going through a metamorphosis?

Quinzel didn't move from her place in the hallway, simply tilting her head to the side as she regarded her dear Mr. J.

"About time," she murmured lowly, almost too low to hear.

And then she started screaming.

**~(J/R)~**

Adam threw the empty bleach containers on the ground, his work nearly finished. It didn't really matter if he left evidence: it would all burn anyway.

Everyone would burn, and the Bureau would finally learn their lesson about what happens when they decide to put brilliant people behind padded walls.

**~(J/R)~**

Spencer and Crane were both unprepared for her screaming, but it got the desired effect the Joker wanted.

Joker pulled out his gun, a little silver piece he'd, um, borrowed for the evening, and pressed it to her temple as he made her walk forward.

By this time two guards had heard the commotion and come running, staring at the poor doctor in what could only be labeled true fear.

One of them reached for their radio and the Joker clucked his tongue, "Nah ah ah, uh, I wouldn't **_do_** that if I were youuu."

The guard's hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped the monitor while the other one pulled out his night stick, looking a little bit more determined then this obvious rookie who was scared shitless.

The Joker licked his lips, "You know, _bravery_ doesn't do you any good if you're _dead_. I might not be, uh, a scientist, but I know a little bit about physics, and I'm _pretty~_ sure sticks can't dodge **_bullets_**."

Joker tapped the gun against the back of Quinzel's head, who was doing a marvelous job of looking frightened, "Now, I know and you know that, uh, Doctor Barbie's life is worth more than your entire staff, so what you're gonna do is let us _pass _through that door right over there, and we'll be on our merry way. Doc Barbie's gonna, uh, be our chauffer, and when we're out, I promise not to empty these bullets into her pretty head. Got it?"

The extremely scared and nervous orderly shook his head in understanding while the other looked unsure. He was scared, sure, but letting three lunatics run free tonight, not to mention one of them being someone who had ALREADY escaped Arkham once before on a whim, was not something he could tell his conscience to shut up about.

"You won't get far," the guard promised.

The Joker rolled his eyes, "Oh please, like you're willing to die for this overpaid blonde bimbo," he licked his lips, his face almost grimacing before he leaned in towards said bimbo, "No _offense_."

Quinzel did not respond; maybe to keep up the pretense of being terrified. Spencer wondered if when they were finally free he would be allowed to kill Quinzel. His suspicions had been right, after all. The Joker claimed her, but in what ways? Spencer had never had to deal with such jealousy before. He was an only child, after all, and he would not stand for this pathetic excuse of a woman to be in league with his…whatever the Joker was. Spencer had never liked the sound of lover, and boyfriend just didn't sound personal enough.

The Joker forced Quinzel forward, and the guard tensed, taking a step to the side while the other one finally got enough sense to pull out his nightstick, although he looked like he'd rather go hide.

The Joker rolled his eyes, "Fine, have it _your_ way."

Quinzel screamed out in surprise as the Joker fired the gun, shooting both guards, one in the chest, and the defiant one in the head. Both bodies slumped to the ground as the Joker began walking forward, a force that could not and would not be stopped.

There was the sound of an explosion, an alarm system beginning to ring throughout the hallways.

The Joker licked his scars before pulling forward, forgetting about Quinzel and grabbing Spencer's hand, tugging him along, his gun almost forgotten in his other hand, "…and all the wall_sss_ came t_umblinggg_ **_down-nuh_**."

**~(J/R)~**

Quinzel's car was small, Adam in the driver's seat once they managed to get out through a side door into the employee parking. Half the building was on fire: there was so much panic going on that the Joker doubted if he even bothered to draw attention to himself anybody would even react.

People tended to ignore other people when things were catching fire and exploding.

Adam had done a spectacular job, carrying out Joker's firework display and managing to get back to the getaway car in time with Quinzel's keys. Quinzel rushed to the passenger seat, sliding in when the Joker opened the back door for Spencer, practically shoving him in.

Spencer tried not to take it personally.

The Joker whirled around, slamming his hand on the trunk of the car, Adam unlocking it quickly.

Crane's eyes widened as the Joker gave him a friendly grin, "Hop in, Big Bird."

"My name is Crane!" Crane said, outraged as the Joker pushed him face first into the trunk, shoving him in.

"Cranes _are_ big birds," the Joker said, rolling his eyes before slamming the trunk shut.

**~(J/R)~**

Hotchner stood roughly four feet from where the guard station of the asylum used to be. Apparently whatever vehicle the lunatic had used as a getaway car had decided to smash through the post.

Understandable, considering the guard in charge of it had gone running as soon as the explosions started.

Over half of the asylum was charred beyond recognition. The fire had been put out, but firemen were still in the process of determining how many bodies were in the debris.

And every single one of those lives lost was his fault. He should have known putting Spencer in there would only antagonize the Joker. It was like inviting someone to your house to trash it.

Rossi was currently talking to a police captain, trying to get more details on the areas the explosions were triggered. Evacuation of the few areas that hadn't been roasted into oblivion was still underway, many of the mentally ill being forced to the far side of the grounds, still within the grounds of the institution until they figured out where to take them. The police and firefighters were calling in city buses.

"What have we done?" Prentiss said from his side as she stared at the wreckage of the institution.

Hotchner said nothing.

**~(J/R)~**

"Jack, I'm fine."

The Joker only grunted as he continued to clean the cuts on Spencer's arm, just now beginning to calm down from Spencer's long, eidetic story that had captured every important aspect of being locked up in Arkham.

They'd escaped without a hitch, although Joker was keen on lying low for a while, especially since his mind was pulling in total opposite directions with Spencer at the moment.

And in this moment, he felt like a mother hen, "You _hurt_ yourself on _purpose_."

Spencer drew his eyebrows together, beginning to piece together why the Joker was being so unreasonable. Was he upset? Surely the Joker was a sadist and Spencer knew from the multiple scars and bruises on the Joker's body that he was no stranger to pain. Why would a few cuts bother him so much?

"I didn't know any other way of getting out of that cell," Spencer said quietly, trying to get the Joker to look at him by touching the side of his face with his fingertips.

The Joker shook his hand off as he began to dutifully wrap medical gauze along Spencer's arm, trying to calm his panic deep in his chest. The second they'd gotten back to his favorite hideout/lair he'd practically thrown Spencer in the shower, clothes and all.

It hadn't remained that way for more than a few seconds, Spencer sputtering in the water as The Joker had quickly divulged Spencer and himself of all clothing. He'd scrubbed Spencer furiously, wanting to get that sick, hospital smell off of him as soon as possible.

Now they were both squeaky clean. And well hidden.

And Spencer was here. Spencer was safe.

But Spencer had also risked his safety before, not only by hurting himself, but by killing that nurse. If anything had gone wrong in Spencer's attempt, he might have been too late in preventing other atrocities. What if he'd really hurt himself? Or the nurse had restrained him, pumped him full of more drugs? The Joker had seen upon arrival that Spencer had at least been on a strong sedative due to his dilated pupils.

The adrenaline of the escape, however, seemed to be clearing him up, and the Joker finally looked into his lover's eyes to reprimand him, "You do not harm yourself. I won't allow it."

Spencer worried his bottom lip, "Why are you angry with me? I thought…I thought you'd be proud of me."

The Joker finished up with the gauze, bumping his forehead against Spencer's, "Spencer, I was COMING for you. You KNEW that."

Spencer lowered his eyelashes, biting at his bottom lip again, feeling vulnerable sitting here on the bed in nothing but a towel, his hair still damp from the shower. Joker had thrown on a pair of royal purple boxers, but that just made his nearly naked body more distracting, "I didn't want to be weak."

The Joker tilted Spencer's head to the side, as if studying something on his cheek, his brows drawing together in anger, "Who _**cut**_ you?"

For a moment Spencer was confused, but then he remembered the shallow cut under his eye from the tussle with Morgan back at the Wayne mansion. So it had scarred…

"Is it a scar?" Spencer practically whispered, lifting his hands to run two fingers along the scars around the Joker's mouth.

"_Answer_ me," the Joker all but growled, pushing Spencer back on the bed and crawling over the top of him, settling over his hips. The Joker ran his thumb along the slight whitish mark running under Spencer's eye that curved back towards his ear. He knew everything about Spencer's body, had licked and kissed every inch of it, and the scarring tissue stared back at him like a mocking smile that he would forever wear on his own face.

"Glass shards must have cut me," Spencer said, shifting his hips slightly to be more comfortable under the Joker's weight, "when I pushed you out the window."

"Yeah, about that…" the Joker began, his hands beginning to ghost over Spencer's naked chest, "I'm _**quite**_ upset about that."

"I had to," Spencer said, his eyes bright with determination as he grabbed at the Joker's wrists lightly, not stopping his ministrations, "I didn't have a choice. I wanted to keep you safe."

The Joker stiffened before forcing his body to relax, "Keep _me _safe? Spencer, you know who I am."

"Yes, I do, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything in my power to TRY and keep you safe. You're important to me," Spencer said, kissing one of the Joker's hands, "I won't lose you. I can't."

"Spencer…"

"I killed for you!" Spencer suddenly shouted, his eyes watering almost instantly, "I killed…I'm…I wanted to, not just for you, but…I was so curious, and now I don't…"

"Hush," The Joker ordered softly, lowering his head to kiss Spencer. Joker couldn't stand to see Spencer shaking and on the verge of tears. No. No he didn't like it, not one bit.

"Joker…" Spencer murmured as Joker began to grind against him, "Jack, I don't want to be weak."

"You're _no**t**_," Joker replied when he broke the heated kiss, grabbing Spencer's jaw forcefully with one hand to make sure he had his full attention, "You're not _**weak**_."

Reid, in an unusual dominative gesture, initiated the next kiss, this one almost brutal. There was something primal, something scary that the Joker brought out in Reid, and he knew it.

Jack was right. He wasn't weak. Not anymore.

Reid, although physically weaker than the Joker, had the element of surprise as he threw all of his weight to the side, forcing the Joker to roll with him so Spencer could now straddle the Joker's waist. Reid continued to kiss the Joker breathless, or the other way around, but Spencer felt as if this were the first time the Joker was letting him hold the reigns.

For someone who claimed to have no rules and not believe in control, the Joker sure enjoyed control when it came to Spencer, and for him to be this lucid was different. Spencer wondered if he was simply too tired to fight him or argue.

They broke for air, Joker's hands ghosting up either side of Spencer's sides before ghosting back down over his creamy thighs, "See? The predator is on his back before the prey. I don't believe in order, but I have nothing against _evolution_."

Spencer distracted Joker with another kiss, taking his wandering hands that had currently been massaging his thighs and pushing his arms to either side, Spencer looming up over him, his eyes dark with lust, "Has anyone ever told you you _talk_ too much?"

The Joker grinned, practically purring as Spencer began to lick and suck at his throat, "Only you, sweet cheeks."

Spencer sat up, hands now centered on the Joker's strong chest. He ground his hips experimentally down, knowing the Joker was hard for him only made him want it more.

"What makes you think I'm _sweet_?" Spencer said thickly as the Joker groaned at the new attention to his raging erection, "I'm _no**t**_. Not at all."

"No, right now you're being naughty," Joker chuckled. It was low and sexy and made Reid arch his back at the sound.

"I'm only naughty for you," Spencer said sincerely, if not a little bit teasingly. He kissed the Joker almost languidly before rolling off of him and getting out of the bed.

For the third time that night, the Joker was surprised. He huffed under his breath, "It's rude to _blue_ ball your_ boy_friend, _Spen_cey."

Reid laughed, grabbing the untraceable cell phone off of the side stand he had been looking for before crawling back into bed, straddling his boyfriend and tugging down his boxers enough to let his weeping cock bob free.

Spencer stared at the cell phone screen as he typed in a number, his other hand beginning to languidly stroke the Joker's cock. The Joker hissed at the contact but still confused as to what Reid was doing, "Care to share, sugar plum?"

"Sh," Spencer reprimanded with a rough squeeze, making the Joker groan, "You'll enjoy this. I promise."

"Oh if I only had a nickel for every time I've heard that…" the Joker began, his hands absentmindedly playing with Reid's chest, his thumbs worshipping Reid's perfect pink little nipples, "I'd have about fifteen cents." *

Spencer ignored the sparks of pleasure in his nipples as he waited for someone to pick up the direct line, his eyes on the cock he was currently teasing to death.

"Reid?" Garcia croaked on the other end as if she were hyperventilating, "Oh God Spencer is that you? Reid?"

"Don't bother to try and trace me. You won't find me," Reid said, his voice emotionless as he continued to move his wrist in surprisingly strong flicks that had the Joker fidgeting and trembling.

"Reid!" Garcia practically sobbed, "Are you okay? Please talk to me, we're all worried sick about you!"

"I'm…perfect," Spencer breathed as he tried to maintain control. The Joker had decided that two could play at this game and ripped off the towel that had been so loosely wrapped around Spencer's hips, revealing his own need. The Joker teased the slit with his thumb as Spencer continued, "Actually I'm about to have mind-blowing sex with my abductor. You might want to add that to the profile."

Reid smiled when he tried to picture how flabbergasted Garcia was at the moment as she tried to figure out something to say to that, "Reid…"

"This is your _final_ warning," Spencer said heatedly, his breath hitching as Joker squeezed the base of his cock, "You've seen what he's willing to do: Arkham was just the beginning. He'll do _anything_ for me, and I'll do anything for him. Stop looking for me: I don't _want_ to be found, but maybe we'll come find _you_."

"Spencer…" Garcia's voice trailed off as she started to sob, "This doesn't even sound like you! What's happened to you?"

Spencer gasped as the Joker's hand became rougher, obviously growing impatient, "Tell the Bureau they can't have him. He's mine, and the next time they interfere, I won't hold back."

"I won't listen to this! He's provoked you, hasn't he? We can get through this, Reid: I know you're stronger than this, stronger than him!"

_Stronger than the Joker?_ Reid immediately wanted to hiss blasphemy.

"I killed someone today," Reid admitted casually, "and the more you provoke me…"

"Reid!"

"…the more I'll kill," Reid finished quietly, feeling the Joker's hot cum slap against his stomach, a dark chuckle rising out of his lover as Reid shushed Garcia's crying, "This is only the beginning."

Before Garcia could get another word in, Spencer hung up, flinging the phone across the room without another thought as he felt his own sticky chest before looking down at his lover with a smirk, "...now, where was I?"

**~(J/R)~**

**Holy butt hole, Bat Man! I like Dark Reid. I just jizzed in my pants. Hard. xD**

**And the plot thickens! Wonder how The Misfit is going to adapt to his new life with The Joker. There will probably be some Reid vs. Harlequin drama, just because I think it would be funny to do and I can picture how annoyed the Joker would be over the two squabbling. And what's up with Big Bird? And the Bureau, and even more still, where the hell is Morgan? Next chapter is going to be…well…I don't think even I can handle it ;)**

**PLEASE REVIEW! I'D LIKE SOME FEEDBACK and MAYBE SOME IDEAS? ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR YOU'D LIKE TO SEE? **


	8. Part 8

**(FF was being a bitch the day I tried to upload, which was Halloween, so...yeah...*punches computer*)**

**Whoa. Long wait, huh? Sorry 'bout that. Uh, so here's a new chapter? And, uh, HAPPY HALLOWEEN. -TPP**

**Profile Me, Doc**

Part 8.

The Joker stared at the sleazy thug on the ground. He was still ranting and raving, his eyes looking like they were going to pop out of his head.

Giving the Joker reasons why he couldn't (more like shouldn't) be killed. Trying to _reason _with him, trying to buy him off.

Seriously, hadn't anybody in this city been paying attention? The Joker was agitated he hadn't somehow managed to make it even _more_ obvious that he _didn't_ care about money or favors. He'd set millions of dollars on _fire_, for Christ's sake.

"Blah blah BLAH," Joker mumbled, licking his lips before pulling a glock from his coat pocket and cocking it against the man's head, "Uh, look, nothing _personal_, Andre, but I don't like pity parties."

"You're making a _big _mistake!" the Italian spit, fire in his eyes. The Joker liked that. The defiant ones were always the most fun to kill.

"You know what, you're right," the Joker said, licking at his scars again before raising his gun and shooting randomly at the wall. Too bad he hadn't hit anyone. He threw the gun behind him, listening to it clatter as it skid across the pavement of the warehouse. A few clown-mask cronies were with him, but they were staying out of the 'interrogation.' This man was just one of many rats the Joker had wanted to kill, only one of many who thought they could hire a hit out against the Joker and not have him think it was just a TAD bit RUDE.

So he didn't want to end it quickly. Guns were no fun anyway. No, no Joker liked to take the…road less traveled.

He smirked, patting the mafia member's cheek roughly before taking a step away, "You're right, Andy. Killing you, uh, quickly would be a BIG-_GUH_ **MISTA-KE**. Besides, you haven't met my little terror yet, huh?"

The man's eyes grew wide. The Joker was pleased: Spencey's name was apparently getting around the city. Not his personal name, no, but Misfit was certainly getting the desired affect. After all, not only had he escaped a mental institution and was the right hand man of The Joker, he was a genius and had been working on perfecting his knowledge on mental torture and interrogation.

Not to mention he was getting pretty handy with knives.

It had been weeks since the Arkham escapade, and Joker had never found himself more happy. Spencey had blossomed, and now this little cockroach was about to experience the Misfit for himself.

"Misfit, da_rrrrr_ling," the Joker called into the darkness of the warehouse, "I've got a _present_ for you."

"What about me, Mistah Jay?" Harlequin pouted from her perch on a large shipping crate. She was decked out in her ridiculous red and black outfit with white face paint and black eye mask, her head jingling from the two attached bells from her hat.

She was getting rather annoying. He tended to throw Harley the scraps because of her fascination for decimation of the human body via bats or hammers.

Misfit came forward from the shadows. He had been playing with a switchblade, decked out in his new favorite outfit.

**(It's been forever for an update so I'll remind you: black pants, crimson red starch shirt, black suspenders, black and white pinstriped vest, white tie, black and white Converse sneakers. Face paint is white. Bottom lip is black along with dark around his eyes with two black 'tear tracks' down his face.)**

Misfit tilted his head at Harlequin who was sitting up on that crate with her legs folded and her hands in her lap like she was a little kid, annoying Spencer further. He hated her with a passion, especially because of her clingy nature with the Joker.

But he smiled at her anyway when he said, "Do me a favor and die."

Harlequin huffed and pouted more while Joker laughed.

Andre the Soon-To-Be-Dead Gangster was looking at Spencer a little skeptically.

Big mistake.

Spencer walked closer, a crooked grin on his face as he surveyed the sorry sap that was about to die.

"Heyya," he said conversationally, hands in his pockets as he swiped a long leg out and kicked the man hard in the face.

The man fell back with a grunt. His arms had been tied a while ago so there wasn't much for him to do except cuss Spencer out.

The Joker giggled as he watched Spencer kick the man repeatedly in the side until there was a deafening crunch.

Andre howled in pain before The Misfit dropped to his haunches to cover the man's mouth with a large hand, his other hand holding a finger to his lips, "Shhh, you don't want to wake up the girls, do you?"

The Joker felt like his smile would rip his face in half. Ha ha.

The man started screaming and cussing, cussing and crying. Ooh, Spencey was good.

Joker hadn't given the gangster's family any thought. The gangster was stupid to have a family in the first place.

"Don't worry, they're alive," Spencey promised the man as he began to quiet down, "How old are your girls now? Seven and nine? Very pretty girls. You should be careful. Statistically Gotham is one of the top ten worst cities in the country to raise children in, ranking in the top 3 for abduction. There are enough rapists and child pornographers in this city to populate a small country. That's not very smart of you, Andy. Not smart at ALL."

"Please, I'm begging you, stay away from them. Just kill me!"

"Oh," Spencer said, tilting his head again as he pulled at the man's hair to get in his face, his dark eyes drilling into the gangster's, "Well aren't you just…so…NOBLE."

Spencer wrestled the edge of his blade into the corner of the man's mouth, the man stilling as the blade threatened to cut through the tender flesh of his face.

"Do you wanna know how I got this scar?" the Misfit began, looking over his shoulder and smirking cheekily at his lover. Of course he was talking about the scar on his neck that had already healed and was barely visible, but he liked to poke fun at the Joker's running joke.

"Hn," the Joker grunted, licking his top lip slowly. He'd remember that later. Spencey would definitely, DEFINITELY, be punished for THAT.

"Never mind," the Misfit sighed, a wide close-mouthed smile morphing his face before he leaned into the gangster and chuckled into his ear, "I don't remember."

Spencer removed the blade from the man's mouth and slashed it expertly through the man's jugular. He had studied to be a doctor, after all. He'd never had the chance to put his knowledge of the human anatomy to any real practice until his new life had begun.

The man gurgled, gasped, and fell into his blood, the pool growing larger and larger. Spencer hopped up, wiping the blade on his pants like he was wiping off annoying paint.

The Joker was hard, painfully hard. Whenever he saw Spencer like this, free from constraint and that irritable control that had been pounded into him since he was a child, he wanted nothing more than to turn him against the nearest wall and fuck him every which way to Sunday.

The Joker grunted, trying to will away his arousal. It had been so long since he'd fucked something that he was beginning to forget what it was even like. Sure Spencey gave him as many blowjobs as he wanted, and the Joker certainly wasn't complaining, especially when Spencer had been born with those perfect tight lips and more than accommodating throat.

But Jack was starting to get_…impatient._ He wanted Spencer fully, and Joker didn't recognize (or acknowledge) many emotions, especially insecurity.

But he was feeling it. He _assumed_ that was what he was feeling. Insecurity that Spencer didn't want him like that, that he wasn't _everything_ Spencer needed.

And that feeling was growing bigger and bigger everyday, just like how the Joker's cock would twitch and grow hard just at the thought of feeling Spencer…like _that_.

Possessing him completely. In a powerful, perfect way.

Yeah. _That_.

"We done here, boss?" one of the cronies asked from behind his clown mask. Joker assumed they were as bored as he was at this point.

"Why not? Let's call it a night, _**boys**_," Joker intoned almost darkly, still trapped in his thoughts and, for once in his life, desperate for a long, hot shower to clear his mind.

Most thought the Joker didn't care about cleanliness. There was a DIFFERENCE between caring about hygiene and appearance: the latter Joker rarely thought about outside of Spencer, and the former…well, let's just say the Joker was clean where it mattered.

Misfit and Harley followed him out to the car he had waiting for him. They piled in and were back to Joker's favorite hideout. Upon entering, Joker smirked at The Kid who was sitting at a little table eating an apple and Crane who was sipping a mug of coffee across from him, his pale blue eyes trained on the gorgeous Kid/Adam who was thoroughly oblivious as he munched.

"Crane, don't'cha got anything better ta do than eye-fuck the be-Jesus out of The Kid?" Joker said cheekily, blindly reaching into the refrigerator and retrieving a beer that he proceeded to guzzle down in two gulps.

"Not particularly, no," Crane said coolly, a small smile on his lips as he met the startled Adam's eyes.

Adam, the natural introvert that he was, looked down at the table, his shoulders hunched, as if he could escape or evaporate that way.

Spencer rubbed the boy's shoulders affectionately, warning Crane with his eyes like a fierce protective mama bear, "I'm sure Amanda will put Crane in his place if he…tries anything."

"I-I'm going to my room," Adam mumbled, getting up from the table and disappearing down the labyrinth of hallways in the once-fancy suite.

Spencer stabbed his once-bloody switch blade into the wood of the table in front of Crane's coffee mug, his eyes never leaving Crane's, "Let's lay it all out on the table, Crane: you hurt him, even THINK about hurting him, and I'll cut your balls off, toss them in hot sauce, and feed them to Harlequin."

The Joker laughed, popping a second beer while Harlequin stuck up her middle finger at Spencer before flouncing away to her own quarters. She had her own suite adjacent to the Joker's, much to Spencer's annoyance.

Crane's little smirk was playful, "What if he wants me to hurt him? What then?"

"Even if he did, Amanda would castrate you first. I know them both very well, Crane, and I won't have you fucking with Adam's head. Are we clear?"

Crane took another sip of coffee, "Crystal."

**~(J/R)~**

The Joker sighed, content in the heat of his shower. He liked to stand in the shower until the water ran icy. His paint had been removed, his hair was free of coloring, and he had soaped his body at least two or three times as he emptied his mind of his favorite thinking activity, Chaos.

He had been humming quietly to himself when he heard the bathroom door open and the glass shower door was slid open. The Joker didn't turn around as Spencer slide his slim body against the Joker's back, molding himself against the hard scarred muscles there.

"Hey baby," Spencer husked, his lips kissing the spot between the Joker's shoulder blades.

The Joker smirked before turning around under the spray and putting his hands on either side of his lover's neck, teasing Spencer's lips with little unsatisfying nips that had Spencer pressing himself even further into the Joker's heat.

"Careful, Spencer," The Joker growled as their stiffening cocks rubbed together, "Don't start something you can't finish."

The last thing the Joker had expected was for Spencer's mouth to form into a sexy little smirk: Spencer was quickly losing those delicious blushes the Joker liked so much these days.

As if to answer, Spencer gripped the Joker's already-dripping length, his long fingers gliding up and down the incredible length and girth. In truth, he was terrified of where he wanted the beast he was currently stroking to go, but after all these weeks of the Joker not pushing Spencer farther, he felt he was finally ready.

The Joker seemed to purr from deep in his chest as Spencer leaned up, kissing the Joker again. The Joker liked where this was going, and he knew that Spencer had finally teased him to his limit.

He wouldn't stop tonight, and Spencer knew it.

The Joker spun Spencer around until he was completely under the spray and disentangled himself from Spencer, ignoring Spencer's protests. The Joker lathered and washed him, starting with his hair and removing his face makeup, working his way down across a lean chest and slender hips, his hands grabbing greedily at the perfect ass that was finally his. Spencer's legs nearly gave out when Joker got to his knees to wash Spencer's calves, his tongue teasing across Spencer's heated erection.

"Jack…" Spencer whined, tugging at the Joker's dirty blonde locks, "Hnn…please…"

The Joker shot back up, kissing Spencer one last time before turning the shower off and retrieving a towel. He rubbed it over himself almost carelessly before attacking Spencer's hair and whipping his body dry in what felt like seconds before he was kissing the younger man into oblivion again.

Somehow, Joker managed to restrain himself until he got the former FBI agent into his bed. The chaotic animalistic side of Joker had said it didn't matter where the fuck he took the boy's anal virginity, any old surface would do.

But the other side, the side that was open and vulnerable to Spencer, knew he deserved better than that.

And Joker was gonna give it to him.

And, once he did, he had no intention of stopping for a very, very long time.

Finally in the bed with satiny plum-colored sheets, the Joker worked his lover into a whining frenzy of reddening flesh until both their cocks were so red Joker thought he might have just discovered a new color.

The Joker settled himself between Spencer's legs, sucking fervently at the length as Spencer's muscles tensed sporadically, his cries getting louder and louder.

Then, to keep the kid from going absolutely crazy, Joker nipped and bit at the soft sensitive flesh of his hip bones as he snaked a long arm over to the edge of the bed for a fresh bottle of lube neither had bothered to put away from the night before.

He poured a generous amount on his calloused fingers and didn't wait before plunging one into Spencer's tight, puckered hole.

Spencer arched his back, gasping at the sensation as Joker focused on teasing the glands of the mushroom tip of his cock before growing impatient and forcing in another finger to scissor.

Spencer was breathing hard now, his stomach muscles contracting as he fought off an impending orgasm, "Jack, Jack, I can't…"

"Mmm, it gets so, so much better, baby," Joker promised, nipping at one of Spencer's ball sacs before shoving a third finger in.

Spencer cried out louder this time, gripping at the plum sheets just for something to do.

"Nn, Jack, k-kiss me, please."

The Joker growled as he moved up over Spencer's splayed body, delving his tongue into Spencer's hot mouth, his fingers twisting teasingly, trying to find the pleasure spot when Spencer whined loudly into Joker's mouth.

The Joker almost came from the sexy noise alone, Spencer's body shaking like a newborn foal.

Spencer began to move his hips, effectively fucking himself on Joker's fingers, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Joker enjoyed the visual for as long as he could stand before the visual of his cock being fucked by Spencer became even more exciting.

Joker removed his fingers with a slimy pop, Spencer's breathy pants of protest doing little for Joker's patience as he used the slicked hand to cover his own weeping cock the best he could stand before guiding it to Spencer's winking entrance. He rubbed his bulbous cockhead there in small circles for a few seconds, enjoying the way Spencer's breath hitched and his body locked in anticipation.

And without any further ado, Joker pressed forward, hard.

Spencer screamed, tears pricking his eyes almost instantly at the incredible stretching sensation. His sphincter muscles retracted over and over again, trying to push out or accommodate the hot, heaving protrusion now inside of his body. Joker continued to press himself until he was fully sheathed, his balls slapping against Spencer's ass with a slick sound.

The Joker tensed above Spencer, his instincts screaming for him to drive into Spencer over and over again with reckless abandon.

He kissed and licked the tears away from Spencer's face, waiting for Spencer to give him a signal.

"You feel…su_perb_," The Joker breathed against Spencer's ear, swiveling his hips to stretch Spencer further. Spencer gasped then moaned, his legs finally locking behind Joker's back as he fought to breathe properly.

"G-God…Jack…"

"I love you, Spencer."

"Hnn, me too. I love you too," Spencer said, lifting his hips slightly.

The Joker growled, fire spilling through his gut and groin at the timid sensation.

He wouldn't hold back anymore.

Joker placed his palms on the backs of Spencer's knees, lifting his legs up, his cock sinking in deeper at the sudden position change.

Good thing Spencey was so flexible. He was mewling at this point, his eyes practically rolling in the back of his head as Joker teased repeatedly against the prostate he had found in no time at all.

Call him, uh, _gifted._

The Joker leaned forward and kissed Spencer sloppily again before pulling his dripping cock out until only the head rested inside, his lips pressed against Spencer's ear, "Buckle up, Buttercup."

Without any further warning, the Joker started a rigorous, slamming pace that had Spencer screaming at the tops of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel.

The pain was quickly turning into a burning pleasure, a need. Spencer felt like he was going insane from the constant stimulation, his leaking cock getting more than enough friction from the firmness from the Joker's chest as he continued to assault Spencer's virgin hole.

"Hahnn...oh my gah - fucking shit!" Spencer gasped at a particularly hard thrust that had his head smacking against the headboard.

The headboard crashed into the wall again, making Spencer claw at the Joker's shoulderblades to the point of bleeding.

The Joker enjoyed the pain. After all, Spencer's ass had certainly gone through more pain than that. No matter what people said, anal penetration hurt like a bitch pretty much every time.

"Yeah, baby, scream for me," the Joker panted, biting into the soft flesh of Spencer's neck, "Let everybody know how much you love my cock."

Spencer moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. The Joker had certainly always had a dirty mouth, but the dirty bed talk in that husky voice of Jack's is what sent Spencer over the edge, his vision going white as he cried out and came all over himself.

The Joker groaned as Spencer's tight muscles milked his cock. He couldn't hold out anymore.

"Spencerrrrr."

"It's okay," Spencer mumbled lowly, still enjoying his abrupt orgasm, "Just do it."

"Shiiiit," the Joker growled, pumping fiercely into Spencer several more times before his body seized and spilled himself. He speared himself deep one last time, making Spencer moan, his legs shaking as he felt the explosion of warmth deep inside himself.

The Joker fell on top of Spencer, kissing him almost sweetly over and over again as he rolled onto his side and fought sleep.

Spencer looked fucking delicious after an orgasm. Spencer looked delicious always, but especially now.

The Joker held up both hands in front of his face, like he was clicking a camera, "Chk-chk."

"Hm?" Spencer said groggily, his eyelids fluttering to see what his lover was up to, "What are you doing?"

"Taking a picture," Joker said cheekily, leaning in to kiss Spencer again, "For my spank bank collection."

Spencer snorted, rolling onto his side to face Joker and snuggle up against his chest, "That was...incredible."

"Fucking _hot-tuh._"

"We should...really...take another shower..." Spencer murmured, his head already burrowed into the crook of Joker's neck, "Jack..."

"Hm?"

"We got...the bed...all sticky."

The Joker chuckled, drawing his lover even tighter across his body, "Don't worry. I'll make Harley change the sheets."

Spencer smirked, his eyes already closed, ridiculously happy.

The Joker stayed awake for a while longer, just watching Spencer sleep. He was already hard again, but there was no way he would push Spencer farther tonight. The kid had pretty much been knocked out cold.

The Joker yawned, something nobody had ever seen him do and lived to tell about it.

Then he proceeded to fall asleep and snore, his arms wrapped crushingly around the love of all his lives.

* * *

**~(J/R)~**

* * *

"Adam, you stay away from that man," Amanda said.

"I-I don't know," Adam answered himself, shaking his head as he paced his bedroom. The room, as always, was devoid of any mirrors. He hated mirrors. Amanda didn't like them either, but she loved it when he drew, although she wasn't very happy about the growing pile of charcoal drawings that were of one cocky beautiful face in particular, a bird she was wary of.

Adam liked to draw birds, but he was fond of drawing humans as well. It had been a while since he had found a subject he liked to draw so much, and Jonathan Crane was somebody he liked to draw in his free time (and, he had to admit, most of the inspiration came from vivid dreams).

"He's no good for you. He's no good for anybody."

"You don't know that. Nobody knows that."

"Adam, I just want to protect you. He's a psychologist: he wants to study you, like the men back at the institution…"

"He's not anymore. He was a patient too."

"Adam…"

"I'm tired, Amanda. Please, just, no more."

"I'm serious, Adam Jackson! There's something about him I don't trust!"

"He's never hurt me!"

"…not yet."

Adam rubbed at his temples as he fell back against his charcoal drawing-covered wall, sweating slightly. He was getting better at communicating with Amanda, but it always left him feeling drained. He loved her very much, like a sister, but sometimes she was vehement in her overprotection.

Adam wanted to get stronger, not weaker. Sometimes Adam felt like Amanda didn't understand that.

His bedroom door swung open slightly, revealing the regal bird the boy with the borderline personality disorder had just been arguing about.

His eyes looked rather serious, so Adam could only assume the man had been eavesdropping. Crane came in further, his mouth falling into that teasing grin again as he saw all the drawings on Adam's wall. Half of them were of birds of all kinds, but especially blue jays and cranes. The other half were a few tried and failed attempts at Spencer Reid and a very good detailed version of the Joker's profile, but the others…the others are what made Adam turn beat red as Crane limbered in with his hands in his pockets, looking comfortable in the introvert's private space. None of them were sexual in nature, but Adam was still embarrassed to be caught with the dozen or so drawings of Crane's face and eyes.

Crane's voice was laced in amused acid, "Hmmm…Adam Jackson. AJ…A Jay. A jay bird, like a blue jay. Temperamental birds, aren't they?"

He ran his finger over one of the drawings of a small blue jay, Adam watching him warily as he continued, "Common, although they are known to have quite the temper: stealing other bird's nests and sometimes killing their young. Is that what Amanda did? Stole your nest? She hides inside you, doesn't she? Jay birds…temperamental but oh-so fascinating, able to mimic a large variety of sounds, even human speech. The name is derived from their noisy, garrulous nature, the exact OPPOSITE of what you truly are. Although your eyes are slightly blue around the edges…"

Crane didn't have a chance. He hadn't been ready, and really, neither had Adam, but Amanda had made him feel the rage, made him just as angry as she had been. She was seething inside of him, in his stomach, in his brain, everywhere. Adam slammed his weight into Crane until he was up against the wall, the breath knocked out of Crane for only a moment, more out of surprise then actual hurt.

"STOP," Adam ordered, his voice deep, commanding. Adam wasn't sure if it was a mixture of himself with Amanda or completely Amanda, but he was aware of what he was doing, so what was this? He was furious, but now fear began to crawl in his veins.

"_There's_ the little jay bird," Crane said with a smirk, pushing back on Adam until Adam shakily removed his hands from Crane's shoulders. Adam took a step back, breathing heavily, "You're not as pathetic as you look. That's good, AJ. Very good."

"My name is _Adam_," he said, gritting his teeth as he slapped Crane's hand away from his face.

"Adam, Amanda, AJ, Jay…really, what am I supposed to call you? There's just so many names…"

"Leave…him_…alone,"_ Adam said, his voice changing over slowly but surely, his head raising until his own green orbs were locked on Crane's icy blue ones, "Mr. Jay is the only Jay you will ever know. You are lucky he's taking an interest in you, but oh, I can't WAIT until he's sick of you and your mouth, because I cannot WAIT to silence those pouty little lips forever."

Crane felt the first tremors of true fear as he watched Adam/Amanda take a switchblade from his pants pocket, obviously a gift from the Joker. Amanda held it up in front of him, settling it on Crane's bottom lip, drawing closer until he was pressed right up against Crane, groin to groin. Despite the fear, Crane couldn't help but feel incredible desire at the seductive and dangerous action.

Crane waited until the blade had traveled to his hairline, dancing across his temple before he dared to murmur, "There are other ways to silence somebody, sweetie."

Amanda smiled at Crane, tapping the blade against Crane's chest, just above his shirt buttons, "Do you know WHY I kill, Mr. Crane?"

Crane kept his face impassive, allowing his eyes to run over Adam/Amanda's face for any signs of aggression. There were none: for now, he was safe to listen, "Do tell."

"I have been protecting Adam for a long, long time. He may be younger than you, but he's been through more than enough to put him away in a mental institution for a long, long time, and I'm not going to let that happen to him again. The treatment center wasn't good for him. He was suffocating; I wanted him out. Then along came some men who were 'friends' of the Joker with word of Spencer Reid, the one man in Adam's life who has never tried to hurt him. Alpha males and their egotistical bullshit will NEVER have power over Adam again, EVER. And you, although I may not like you, you obviously have your own twisted way of liking Adam and I know that Adam's curious about you."

Crane raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised that the slightly younger male was curious about him. Made him hopeful, and Crane had never been one to believe in hope. He was a fatalist, after all.

"I love Adam more than anything in this world, and because I love him, I'm going to back off. At least for a little while. Consider it a test, Mr. Crane…but if I even _suspect _your affection is fake, I will gut you, with or without The Joker's blessing."

And with those final words, it was like flicking a switch, Adam shaking his head, dropping the knife to the floor, his breathing irregular as he tried to get his bearings.

He looked at Crane with an open vulnerability that Crane had never seen before, and it instantly made Crane want to act on that vulnerability, to protect him.

"W-what did she do?" Adam began, his eyes filling with unshed tears, "Ugh…" he began sniffling, his hair falling in his face as the backs of his hands ran over his face.

"You didn't hurt me," Crane said, giving in to his desire to touch Adam. Lightly on the shoulder so as not to startle him, "I provoked you. I shouldn't have. I don't want to hurt you, that's not my intention."

"Then why? Why do you act so cold? Do you hate me?"

Crane moaned internally as he watched Adam fight tears before he made up his mind. He leaned down slightly, pecking Adam on the lips so quickly it was almost missed by both parties.

Adam froze, his eyes wide as saucers, "Wh-what was that?"

Crane laughed, a genuine laugh that had his insides squirming, "A very sad, sad kiss. I would like to remedy that, if I could."

"Y-you would?"

Crane reigned in all of the self-control he possibly possessed. Just listening to the boy stutter was enough to set his libido on fire. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was fucking the boy senseless. Whether Amanda interfered or not was not of Crane's concern anymore.

"Absolutely, Adam."

Adam looked unsure before lifting one of his hands and running his shaking fingers across Crane's bottom lip, "Um…o-okay."

**~(J/R)~**

**SQUEAL. A LITTLE BIT OF FLUFF FOR MY ADAM! AND finally, FINALLY I delivered on the Joker/Reid smut I had been promising. Hope you review! And once again, Happy (late) Halloween. There were no Jokers or Batmans this year. I would have dressed up as him again, but the makeup scares the Be-Jesus out of my family, and I had already decided to go trick-or-treating as Jiggly Puff. I worked too hard on that costume not to do it, so maybe Joker for a comic book convention coming up in a month or so. I was the only one at the last one, so I feel special, haha. -TPP**


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